


In the Wake

by Piscaria



Category: Transformers (Bayverse)
Genre: Other, PTSD, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-09
Updated: 2009-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:24:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piscaria/pseuds/Piscaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sam gets kicked out of the dorms, he has to call his parents with the bad news. Fortunately, his car answers the phone instead . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Lean on Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam calls his parents with difficult news -- fortunately, his car answers the phone instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot_luv05, Lyric, Logosh, and Swipeatronspark, thank you guys so much for bouncing around ideas with me, answering my stupid questions, reading through my drafts, and teaching me more about Transformers than I ever thought I'd need to know! It's always kind of scary to step into a new fandom, but you guys have definitely helped to ease the transition for me. Thanks also to my long-suffering husband, who hates Transformers, but doesn't tease me (too much) when I disappear into my office to write about them.

When Sam called his house, the answering machine picked up. That threw him, for a second. It was one thing to tell your parents that you'd fucked up over the phone; it was another thing to do it in an answering machine message. Still, one lesson Sam had learned as a child was to get to his parents first when he got in trouble. Any minute now, his resident director would be making her own call to his parents. Sam wanted them to hear his side first. 

"Hi, Mom. Dad." 

That was the easy part. Sam racked his brain, but he couldn't think of a way to make the next part any better. He decided an appeal for mercy wouldn't hurt. 

"You aren't going to want to hear this," he said, "but please don't kill me. I made a mistake. I know that. Murder is really overrated, though. I . . . I got kicked out of school. Out of the dorms, at least. And I'm failing all of my classes, so I guess it's pretty much the same thing." 

Sam heard the hysterical note in his voice before he felt it, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opened them, the gleam of sunlight on sharp metal limbs flashed in his peripheral vision, and he turned his head in time to see something resembling a mechanical spider sidle into his closet. It's not real, Sam reminded himself, and he made himself keep talking. As long as he was talking, he wouldn't be tempted to do anything stupid, like scream. 

"They're giving me twenty-four hours to pack my stuff and get out," he said. "I'm not sure what to do. I was hoping you guys could maybe pay for a bus ride home. I know it's really shitty to be asking for money right now, but, well, I'm broke, and I just --" 

A metallic noise came over the line, like a knife-edge of static, interrupting him. Sam tapped his cell phone against his palm, wondering if he didn't have a good enough signal. The reception in the dorms sucked at the best of times. But then the static cleared, and the last voice in the world that Sam was expecting to hear spoke to him. 

"Sam." 

"B -- Bumblebee?" Sam's knees gave out, and he sank onto the edge of his mattress. "What are you -- how did you get on the line?" Even as Sam's head swam with confusion, he felt his heart lifting a little. For the first time since the dorm hearing that morning, he didn't feel quite so alone. 

"That's not important now," Bumblebee said. His voice was calm where Sam's was panicked, and despite his fear and confusion, Sam felt himself starting to breathe easier. "We need to get you out of your dormitory," Bumblebee continued. "Can you pack your things tonight?" 

"Yeah," Sam said. "I didn't bring much." 

"I'll be there tomorrow morning," Bumblebee said. "Be ready to go." 

"But you're on the other side of the country!" Sam protested. "How can you be here by --" 

"I'll be there," Bumblebee said, interrupting him, and then the line clicked dead. Sam wondered if the Autobot was already speeding down the freeway towards him. The thought comforted him more than he thought possible. 

"All right, pack," he muttered, glancing around his messy dorm room. "I can do that." 

* * *

Once he'd brought Optimus Prime back to life and helped to stop the Deceptions from blowing up the sun, Sam had thought his life could get back to normal. The seed of the All Spark nested in Sam had gone all but dormant, leaving him with only a dorm room covered in alien symbols and a disturbingly photographic memory of his astronomy textbook to show for it. Granted, Sam wasn't entirely sure how "normal" his life could be with the Autobots in it, but wasn't college the perfect opportunity to find out? 

Sam still felt bad about turning his back on Optimus Prime and Bumblebee when they'd needed him, but he'd done his best to make it up to them. The next time they came asking for his help, he'd be there. He'd decided that much at least. Until then, Sam's reasons for going away to college seemed more valid than ever. He needed a chance to step away from his life and examine it at a distance, to find out how much of him was left once you took away his amazing transforming Camaro. He'd been the boy who knew the Autobots for so long that he'd forgotten how it felt to just be himself. He wanted to remind himself what normal felt like. 

All in all, Sam had only missed a few weeks of school, but he'd been dismayed to discover how much more school his college professors could cram into those two weeks than his high school teachers had. He'd coasted through high school with a B average, and had naively assumed that college would be the same way. But after missing two weeks of the quarter, Sam had needed to work his ass off just to pass all of his classes. No matter how many times he tried, he couldn't repeat his trick with the astronomy textbook, so he'd had to do all of his reading the hard way. In a way, it had been a blessing. His long hours in the library had saved him from some of Leo's constant questions about the Autobots, at least, and it gave him an excuse to avoid the frat parties everyone kept trying to drag him to. Sam wasn't sure if he'd reached normal yet, but his life seemed to be inching towards it. 

By the time Christmas break came around, Sam had honestly looked forward to going home. It had been great to see Mikaela again, and to Sam's surprise, Bumblebee had slipped away from the other Autobots to spend the break with him. Sam hadn't even realized how much he'd missed his friend until he searched for his parents' car in the airport parking lot and spotted the yellow Camaro there instead. 

"I thought you'd be on the base!" Sam had exclaimed, sliding into the driver's seat. 

"_Baby, what a big surprise!_" Bee played, and Sam burst out laughing, wrapping an arm around the passenger seat to pat it, the closest he could come to giving his car a manly hug. 

Even Sam's parents seemed less annoying than they were in high school. His dad ceremoniously offered Sam a beer at dinner, and they didn't put up more than a token protest when he spent the night at Mikaila's house. 

Christmas break gave Sam hope that a normal life might be able to include Bumblebee, and Mikaila, and maybe even his parents. He'd gone back to school feeling confidant that everything would work out for the best. 

Then the nightmares started. 

* * *

Sam never used to think much about the process of falling asleep. Turn off the lights and climb into bed. An idiot could do it. In high school, Sam had been an quite accomplished sleeper -- Bumblebee certainly used to complain about his habit of sleeping in until noon on Saturday mornings. But the nightmares made falling asleep feel something like stepping off a cliff and into a lake of molten lava, and even though Sam didn't have much of a sense of self-preservation (he had, after all, been stupid enough to take on Megatron), some part of him must have known better than to take that step. No matter how much he tossed and turned in bed, he couldn't drift to sleep for more than a few minutes before he heard the sharp, fast click of Scalpel's feet on the floor and woke up gasping, his mind jolting him awake before the Decepticon could slide into Sam's nose and make him relive that certain, horrifying certainty that he was seconds away from saying goodbye to his brain. Last week, Leo had accused Sam of taking things for granted. He'd been talking about Mikaila at the time. While Sam maintained that Leo didn't know what he was talking about when it came to Mikaila, he did have to admit that his roommate had a point. Sam had certainly been taking sleep for granted all these years. Why hadn't someone told him that sleep was precious? That one day, sleep would just abandon him? 

At first, Sam thought it was an even trade-off. No sleep, no nightmares. Sure, it sucked being tired all the time, but that's what coffee was for, and besides, this was college. Everyone was stumbling through their classes in a daze. After a few weeks, he didn't even mind the exhaustion anymore. He'd grown used to it, like a pair of pinching shoes that he'd finally managed to break in. To his surprise, there were even some perks to it. Bee had told him once, with an air of incredulity, that the average human spent a third of his life sleeping. Sam believed it. Now that he wasn't sleeping anymore, Sam found time to do hundreds of things he'd never managed before. He finished his homework every night, and started looking ahead in his syllabi to work on assignments before his professors assigned them. He downloaded TV shows from the internet and finished whole seasons in a week. He wrote snail mail letters to his parents, to Mikaela, even to Bee. He learned how to solve a Rubik's cube. He even helped Leo mail off those stupid kitten calendars. 

He hated it. 

What Bumblebee didn't realize was that humans spent a third of their lives sleeping so they could spend the other two-thirds awake. Sometimes, Sam felt tempted to explain that in one of his letters, but he held off, knowing that Bee would only worry about him if he realized that Sam no longer slept or woke, but now spent his whole life Not-Sleeping. Not-Sleeping wasn't the same as being awake. If being awake were a sunny field, then Not-Sleeping was a foggy forest full of quicksand, with vines snaking around Sam's feet and giant spiders dropping onto him from the branches. 

Sam had only been Not-Sleeping for about a month when the nightmares found a way to follow him. It started innocently enough. He'd start to nod off in class and hear the click-click-click of Scalpel's feet before Sam jerked awake and realized he was only hearing his professor's yardstick tapping against the chalk board. He'd open a textbook and see a mess of alien symbols before he blinked and the print resolved itself. But the more Sam tried to push the nightmares away, the more insistent they got. Through the corners of his eyes, he started to glimpse Scalpel scuttling into Sam's pile of dirty laundry or waving his sharp legs from behind a telephone pole. 

Once the Decepticon got bold enough to lower himself down over a professor's lectern on a silver wire, just like the spider he resembled. Sam had spent the next hour of his political science class trying not to hyperventilate while Scalpel hung above the professor's head, sharpening his knife-like forceps to a gleaming edge. Sam escaped the lecture hall during the five-minute break the professor gave the class, and skipped the rest of lecture to call Bee. 

"What is it, Sam?" Bumblebee had asked, without even saying hello. For a frantic moment, Sam wondered if the Decepticons were acting up again and Bumblebee had somehow guessed that Sam might be in danger. Then he realized that, of course, Bee knew he was supposed to be in class right now. In the most nonchalant voice he could manage, Sam said, "Hey. Um . . . I know this sounds kind of stupid, but Scalpel's dead, right?" 

"Optimus Prime destroyed him when we rescued you," Bumblebee said, and Sam ran his fingers through his hair. 

"That's what I thought. But . . . he's dead, dead, right? The Decepticons can't rebuild him?" 

"His spark chamber was destroyed in the cannon blast, Sam. There's no way he could be rebuilt." 

"Okay. Good." 

"Sam, is everything all right?" Bee asked, sounding worried. 

"I had kind of a long night," Sam said. "Leo dragged me to another frat party. I guess I drifted off in class and had a nightmare." 

Sam held his breath for a moment, worrying that Bumblebee had some kind of a built-in lie detector that could sense his bullshit even over the phone. But Bee accepted his excuse and let him go, with nothing more than a reminder that humans needed at least eight hours of sleep a night to function at optimum level. 

_You're telling me_, Sam thought, hanging up the phone. It had taken everything he had not to tell Bee that he couldn't even remember what sleep felt like. But it wasn't like Bumblebee could level Sam's insomnia as efficiently as he'd dealt with the monstrosities that the All Spark shard had created in Sam's kitchen. Bumblebee would only worry if he knew that Sam was starting to see things. Everyone would worry. 

So Bee didn't know. Mikaela didn't know. His parents didn't know, thank God, or else his mom would have shown up at the dorms to do something horribly embarrassing, like make Sam warm milk or rock him to sleep in front of all of Leo's friends. Sam thought he'd even managed to keep Leo in the dark. He climbed into bed every night, like usual, and didn't bother getting up until his roommate started snoring. Fortunately, Leo was a heavy sleeper, and after a few nights of practice, Sam had learned how to navigate their dorm room in the dark. 

A couple of Google searches reassured Sam that hallucinations were a natural side effect of insomnia. The next time he spotted Scalpel peeking out at Sam from behind his stereo, he tried to ignore him. But Sam's nerves were already strung out from a month of Not-Sleeping, and having an imaginary Decepticon following him around didn't help. 

Things that Sam wouldn't have blinked at a month ago started spinning him into a rage. He practically bit Leo's head off when his roommate dropped a sweater on Sam's half of the room. When some rugby player cut in front of Sam in the dining hall lunch line, he'd thrown the guy against a wall, before his brain caught up to warn him that the jock was a hell of a lot bigger than Sam. After he'd recovered from the shock, the rugby player had been very quick to remind him. Sam's RD gave him his first official write-up for the fight that followed, and he had to spend the next few weeks ducking out of web-cam dates with Mikaila so that she wouldn't see his black eye. 

Sam promised himself he'd cool down, after that. But it kept happening. He started cutting his phone calls short so that he wouldn't say anything stupid to his parents or Mikaela. 

Sometimes, Sam caught himself zoning off in the middle of whatever he was doing. He'd look up from his dinner tray and realize that an hour had passed while he'd been staring at the wall. The other guys in the hall became convinced that Sam was taking something, and got testy when he wouldn't share. Sam started forgetting little things like homework and big things like web-cam dates with Mikaila. 

The second time that happened, Sam came back to his dorm room to find his very pissed-off girlfriend bitching to his entirely too sympathetic roommate, on Sam's computer no less. In the argument that followed, Leo pulled out that line about Sam taking Mikaila for granted, and Sam snapped back that Leo was a fucking idiot who needed to mind his own business. Sam had stalked out of the dorm room, and sheepishly returned five minutes later, when he remembered that he'd left Mikaila online, waiting for him. She'd logged off by then. 

A few days later, the long-distance relationship kit he'd made her showed up in the mail, along with the sweater Mikaila had borrowed and never returned, and the bracelet he'd given her for their one-year anniversary. Sam called to talk her out of breaking up with him again, but she wasn't taking his phone calls. Looking back, Sam realized that Leo wasn't really to blame for Mikaela's breaking up with him, but when his roommate had come into the room and whistled at the break-up package on Sam's desk, Sam just snapped. His hands were around Leo's neck before he'd realized he'd moved, and if the tech guys hanging out in Leo's room hadn't heard the scuffle, Sam honestly wasn't sure what might have happened. 

That's how Sam found himself in the RD's office one morning, learning that he'd earned himself a one-way ticket out of the residence halls. 

* * *

"I'm coming in, don't kill me!" Leo yelled from the hallway. 

Sam sighed, and looked up from the box he'd been packing. Leo edged into the room and sat down on his desk chair, eyeing Sam like he were a ticking bomb. Sam supposed he couldn't blame him. Really, he was lucky that Leo didn't want to press charges. In fact, once they'd both calmed down, Leo hadn't even seemed all that mad at him. Instead, he just seemed kind of befuddled. 

"So you're leaving, huh?" Leo asked, taking in the boxes scattered on Sam's half of the room. 

Sam nodded, trying to decide if his textbooks should go in the "keep" or "donate" pile. After a second, he tossed them into the latter. 

"What did your parents say?" Leo asked. 

"I didn't talk to them," Sam said. "Bumblebee answered the phone. He's coming to get me." 

"Well, that's good," Leo said. "It's not like they can kill you with a giant robot around, right?" 

Sam choked out something that wasn't quite a laugh, and rested his face on his hands. 

After a second, Leo said, awkwardly, "Sam, I just want you to know that I don't have any hard feelings. Something's going on with you. I don't know what it is, but I just hope you get it figured out, man." 

"Thanks," Sam said, unable to meet his roommate's eyes. 

They sat in embarrassed silence for a few minutes, until Leo nudged Sam's Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar with the toe of his sneaker. 

"Are you keeping that?" he asked. 

Sam ended up giving the calendar to Leo. He figured it was the least he could do. 

* * * 

The next morning, Sam was sitting on the steps of his building, surrounded by boxes and duffle bags, when Bumblebee pulled up to the curb. 

"Bee!" Sam exclaimed. He lunged off the steps, and was seconds away from hugging his car before he realized how ridiculous it would look. Instead he stroked Bumblebee's hood, blinking back an embarrassing onslaught of tears. "I am so glad to see you," he said. 

The holographic driver in the cab, a young woman with a ponytail, managed a realistic-looking enough smile, but Bumblebee didn't bother to speak through her. Instead, the radio clicked on. 

_Just call on me brother, when you need a hand/ We all need somebody to lean on . . ._

"Well, I owe you," Sam said huskily. He glanced at the pile of boxes on the front steps. "Could you pop the trunk?" he asked. 

Bumblebee did, and Sam busied himself with trying to cram the contents of his dorm room into it while "Lean on Me" played on. Bee's holoform got out to help him, much to Sam's relief. His muscles ached from hauling everything down the stairs to start with. When they stowed the last box inside the trunk, the holoform faded away, and the driver's door popped open for him. Sam slid inside. He'd barely closed the door behind him when Bumblebee started up and pealed out of the parking lot. Sam spared one glance back for the college that should have been his future, then he sighed and leaned back in the driver's seat, not even bothering to rest his hands on the steering wheel. 

"Let's go home, Bee."


	2. Fast Car

_"Life is a highway, I wanna ride it all night long,"_ Bumblebee played as they pulled out of the dorm's parking lot. Sam laughed weakly, resting his head against the window. Now that they were leaving the dorms, the exhaustion that he'd been managing to ignore for the past several weeks was settling around his shoulders, weighing him down like a cape made of lead. Bumblebee, on the other hand, practically bounced on his wheels as they pulled up to a stop sign. Sam wished he could follow his friend's lead and pretend that nothing was wrong.

Bee hadn't played "Life is a Highway" for him since Sam was still in high school. Sam still remembered the last time. Bee had picked him up from school, as usual, and for once Mikaela hadn't been with them. She'd had a dentist appointment or something -- Sam couldn't really remember. They'd gone on an impromptu drive out into the county to see the leaves changing color, and Bee had pulled off into a wide turnaround so that Sam could do his homework before the light faded. Sam remembered laying on Bee's hood pretending to read _Of Mice and Men_, his fingers idly drawing patterns in the thin layer of dust Bee had picked up on the dirt road.

"You know what, Bee?" Sam finally said, laying the book down. "We should go on a road trip sometime. Just the two of us." He added that last part a little shyly: Bumblebee probably had more important things to do than take Sam on a road trip.

To Sam's surprise and relief, Bumblebee revved his engine and found Rascal Flatts on the radio. Sam remembered grinning like an idiot as he rolled over onto his stomach and started chattering about all of the places they could visit. Bee had just listened patiently, occasionally seconding or vetoing Sam’s ideas

They'd never gone on that road trip. Sam had gotten swept up in college preparation and dates with Mikaela, and somehow, his plans with Bumblebee had fallen by the wayside. Now, listening to "Life is a Highway" as they pulled away from his dorm, Sam suddenly, deeply regretted that.

Leaning forward, Sam tapped the center of the steering wheel to get Bee's attention, and flipped on the left blinker.

"There's a coffee shop a few blocks that way," he said. "I need some fuel before we hit that highway, buddy."

The radio faded, and a Bee's own voice drifted through the speakers, even as he took the turn Sam indicated. "You never used to drink coffee, Sam."

"Things change, Bee," Sam said quietly, patting the steering wheel in reassurance.

Bumblebee didn't answer, but when Sam ordered a triple venti Americano at the drive-through espresso stand, the Autobot obligingly materialized a cup holder big enough for it.

* * *

When they reached the freeway, Bumblebee put on a burst of speed, as if he wanted to put as much distance as possible between Sam and his former college. Resting a hand on the steering wheel in case any of the other drivers happened to be watching, Sam sipped his coffee and tried to wake up.

"If I get a ticket, I'm making you pay it," he warned when the speedometer's needle reached ninety.

Air puffed from the vents like a scoff. "You know I can detect a radar signal," Bumblebee said, and swerved into the right lane to get around the Porsche in front of him.

The Porsche's driver flipped them off and sped up, trying to trap Bee in the right lane, behind a slow-moving Toyota Corolla that Bee was rapidly approaching. Inches away from slamming into the Corolla's bumper, Bee tilted onto two tires and slipped into the narrow space between the two cars. The Corolla's driver slammed on the brakes, and the man driving the Porsche stared at them, wide eyed, as he hastily swerved towards the fog line. Bee sped past them both, and settled back onto all four tires with an air of smug satisfaction as he took his rightful place at the front of the fast lane. A chorus of honking horns sounded behind him.

Sam shook his head, affectionately patting the passenger seat. He couldn't remember the last time Bee had driven this exuberantly. It reminded him of the joy rides they'd taken into the city back in high school, Bee's radio blasting as he sped through the city streets, weaving in and out of traffic with the effortless precision only an Autobot could manage, while Sam and Mikaela gripped each other's hands and shrieked for joy.

Now, Sam leaned back against the headrest, exhausted, and focused on keeping his coffee from spilling as Bumblebee darted onto the shoulder to pass a mini-van that had dared to pull out in front of him. Would Mikaela even talk to him again? Sam looked out the window at the trees speeding past, and sipped his coffee like an elixir. He didn't realize how much his subdued mood was worrying the Autobot until a blue light fanned out over him from the rearview mirror. He could have sworn his skin tingled from the scan.

"It's all right, Bee," he said, trying to manage a reassuring smile. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"_You can bend my ear,_ a song from the radio offered. "_We will talk all day._"

"I don't feel much like talking," Sam said.

Bumblebee's engine whirred at him, and the radio clicked on and off, as if Bee were weighing different answers. Finally, Bumblebee said, "If you change your mind, I'll be ready to listen."

"I know," Sam said, patting the dashboard. "Thanks, Bee."

"You look fatigued," Bumblebee said. "You could take a nap if you'd like."

The passenger seat leaned backwards, invitingly. Sam longed to scoot across the cab and crawl into it, but the phantom memory of cold, needle-sharp legs scuttling across his skin made him shudder.

"Maybe later," he managed weakly.

Bee's engine whirred fitfully. "Sam," the Autobot started, but whatever Bee had been planning to say, he apparently changed his mind. Instead, the soft chords of an acoustic guitar drifted out of the radio, soothing as a lullaby. Sam rested back against the headrest, grateful that Bee wasn't going to push the issue.

"_You got a fast car,_" Tracy Chapman sang.  
"_I want a ticket to anywhere  
Maybe we make a deal  
Maybe together we can get somewhere."_

* * *

They drove together in silence, except for the soft music Bee played. Sam looked wearily out the window, avoiding the siren call of the passenger seat next to him. Shortly after noon, Bee pulled off the freeway and drifted to a stop in front of a roadside diner.

"I'm not hungry," Sam said, but his door swung open anyway. Sam glanced up at the rearview mirror. His own eyes blinked back at him, surrounded by dark circles.

"Humor me," Bee said softly.

Sighing, Sam stood and stretched. Knowing that the Autobot was monitoring him from the parking lot, he choked down half a sandwich and washed it down with two more cups of coffee. In the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face, but it didn't wake him up any more than the coffee had.

The passenger door swung open for him as he stumbled back out to the car. He ignored it, and reached for the driver's-side handle. The lock depressed itself as he watched.

"Goddamn it!" Sam yelled, pounding his fists against the window. His sudden fury surprised him. For several minutes, the people in the diner watched through the window as Sam shouted, cursed, and pleaded with his car to open the door. Finally, he sank to the ground in front of the door, and shuddered. From behind Bee's tires, Scalpel waved a gleaming forcep at him. Tears burned Sam's eyes, and he shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself.

Behind him, Bee keened softly. With the sound of straining metal, the Camaro lowered itself down over the tires until the fenders nearly brushed the pavement. With a movement like a mother hen rounding up a chick, the driver's-side door swung open and swept Sam into the cab.  
Sam collapsed into the driver's seat and rested his forehead against the steering wheel, hugging himself as sobs shook his body. To his surprise, the back of his seat followed him forward, conforming to the contours of his back. Tiny ripples ran through the leather upholstery, as good as a hand stroking him.

"Sam. Sam. Sam," Bee crooned.

At last, Sam took a shuddering breath and drew back, rubbing his eyes. The driver's seat moved with him, cradling him as if he were fragile.

"Someone might have seen you pull me in here," Sam said hoarsely. For the first time, he realized that they weren't in front of the diner anymore: Bumblebee had driven them to a secluded back road, driving so gently that Sam hadn't even noticed they were moving.

"I don't care." Bumblebee continued to drive slowly, wandering aimlessly up and down the country roads. If Sam didn't know that Bee's navigation system was more accurate than any GPS in the world, he might have wondered if they were lost.

After a few miles, he said, "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"It's okay."

"No it's not! You're my best friend. I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't come to pick me up this morning."

For a moment, his seatbelt tightened around him like an embrace. "I'm here," Bee said.

* * *

When evening fell, Bumblebee abruptly turned on his blinker and exited the freeway. The soft chime of the turn signal roused Sam from the stupor he'd been in, and he blinked.

"Where are we going now?"

"_Welcome to the hotel California_," the Eagles sang.

Something tightened in Sam's stomach as he realized that Not-Sleeping around Bee would be even harder than he'd originally anticipated. Of course the Autobot expected him to keep to a normal human schedule. Desperately, Sam latched onto the first excuse he could think of.

"A hotel? Bee, I don't have any money!"

The radio switched to Fergie. "_Cause I know that my credit card will help put me out of flames_."

"I don't have a credit card either," Sam said. "Dad warned me not to get into debt. Credit card companies target college students, you know."

"_I get by with a little help from my friends_," sang the Beatles, and they segued immediately into an advertising jingle. "_Expedia dot com_!"

"_You_ booked it?" That was almost surprising enough to make Sam forget his nervousness. "Where did you even get a credit card? It's not like you have a social security number or anything."

"_If you come around here, I make 'em all day, I'll get one done in a second if you wait_."

Sam dropped his forehead against the steering wheel. "Great," he muttered. "I'm the first Witwicky to drop out of college, and my car is a criminal. Does Optimus Prime know about this?"

"_If you had a secret, you bet I would keep it. I would never tell on you._"

"My lips are sealed," Sam said, shaking his head. "What do you need a credit card for anyway, Bee?"

"_The internet is for porn!_" the radio sang brightly, and Sam wailed, clapping his hands over his ears.

"I don't want to hear it!" Sam cried, choking back laughter. "I don't want to know."

Bumblebee shook with mechanical laughter as they pulled up to the hotel.

Sam had expected something like the budget motels his family always stayed in when they travelled. In his mind, he heard his mom's voice saying, "You're such a cheapskate," with that tone of fond exasperation she always used with his dad. A lump formed in Sam's throat, and he swallowed, wondering why his parents hadn't called him back yet. They must be really disappointed in him. But to Sam's surprise, Bumblebee pulled up in front of a place that looked a hell of a lot nicer than a Value Inn.

_Classy_, Sam thought, looking at the fountain bubbling in front. He hoped his room had a TV: after glimpsing Scalpel in the diner parking lot, Sam definitely didn't plan on sleeping tonight.

"There's a restaurant on the first floor," Bumblebee told him. "Make sure you eat dinner."

"Yes, Mom," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

Bumblebee didn't take the bait. "You've lost 4.3 kilograms since Christmas break, Sam," he said. "I was under the impression that college freshman were supposed to face the opposite problem." 

"It's been a stressful year," Sam muttered, getting out of the cab and walking around the Camaro to retrieve his backpack from the trunk.

"If you want to talk about it --"

"I don't." Sam heard the snap in his own voice, and he sighed. "I'm just not ready yet, Bee."

To Sam's relief, Bumblebee didn't press him further. "The reservation is under your name," Bee said, changing the subject. "Charge your dinner to the room."

"Thanks, Bee," Sam said, resting a hand on the Camaro's hood. "For everything."

"You're welcome, Sam."

* * *

At first, staying in the hotel was actually kind of fun. It was definitely nicer than anyplace his parents had ever stayed. The bed in his room was so huge and soft that Sam couldn't resist bouncing on it like a little kid. Since Bee had been so insistent about it, Sam wandered down to the restaurant to eat dinner. They made the best milkshake he'd had in his life. When he got back to his room, Sam leaned back against the pillows on his bed, and surfed the internet on the laptop his parents had given him as a graduation present.

On Facebook, Mikaela had changed her relationship status to "single." Sam stared at it for a moment, wondering if he should, too. After a minute, he decided to pretend he hadn't seen it. At ten o'clock, his instant messenger chimed at him.

Bumblebee: Go to bed, Sam.

Ladiesman217: I am in bed.

Bumblebee: Sleep.

Sam logged out of IM, and turned off his wireless for good measure. He had a few games on his laptop. He could at least pass the time that way. But when he tried to load one, his computer froze for a moment. The monitor went black and a string of glowing alien symbols flashed across it, dissolving into a single sentence that formed in the middle of the screen.

**Go to sleep.**

Swearing, Sam closed his laptop. After a minute of consideration, he turned off his cell phone, too. Resting back against the pillows, he reached for the remote on his nightstand. About ten minutes into an old episode of Myth Busters, his room phone rang.

"Do you have infrared vision or something?" Sam asked, without even bothering to say hello.

"Yes," Bumblebee said. "At the moment, I'm monitoring your heart rate, however. You are desperately in need of rest."

"I'm not tired, Bee."

"You nearly drifted to sleep seventeen times today," Bumblebee countered. "If you'd been driving, you certainly would have gotten into a wreck." In a gentler voice, the Autobot said, "Sam, I'm no expert on human physiology, but I can tell that you're exhausted. Why are you fighting sleep?"

"Nightmares," Sam mumbled, feeling his face go hot. How humiliating, to explain to a robotic soldier that he was afraid of falling asleep because of a few bad dreams.

"Nightmares?" Bee repeated cautiously, as if he weren't sure that he'd heard Sam correctly.

Sam nodded, realized that the Autobot couldn't see it over the phone, and swallowed.

"Yeah," he admitted. "I, um, I have them. Every time I go to sleep."

Bumblebee was silent for a moment. Sam could only wonder what he was thinking. Finally, Bee said, "From my understanding, anxiety generally causes nightmares in humans."

"Pretty much," Sam said, leaning back against the pillows.

"If you're concerned about your physical well-being, you needn't be. My sensors are trained on your room, Sam. You know I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

Sam swallowed the surge of warmth and embarrassment that rose up in his throat. "I know," he mumbled.

"If you would feel more comfortable, I could send a hologram into the room with you," Bumblebee offered.

"No!" Sam gulped, getting a sudden image of Bee checking under the bed and in the closet to prove to Sam that there weren't any Decepticons there. Sam wasn't sure what scared him more: the thought of Bee coming up to ease his fears and tuck him into bed like a fearful toddler, or the part of him that desperately hoped Bee would.

"Are you sure?" Bee asked, as if sensing Sam's hesitation. Bee sounded almost hopeful.

Sam swallowed down the butterflies in his stomach. "Yeah," Sam said. "I'm sure."

A puff of static sounded in the phone, like the Autobot equivalent of a sigh. "Will you at least try to sleep?" Bee asked.

"I'll try," Sam promised, feeling guilty for the worry in Bee's voice. Sitting up, Sam leaned over and switched off the bedside lamp, leaving the room in darkness. "See?" he said, unsure if Bee really could.

"It's an improvement," Bee conceded. "Sleep well, Sam."

"Goodnight, Bee."

The phone clicked silent, and Sam rested it back in its cradle, feeling inexplicably sad. As over-protective as Bee was sometimes, something about the Autobot's quiet, British voice comforted Sam. The room seemed inexplicably quiet without it. Scooping up one of the many extra pillows on the bed, Sam hugged it to himself, not wanting to examine why he felt lonely all of a sudden.

A soft, metallic sound caught Sam's ears; after a moment, he realized that the radio alarm clock on the nightstand was adjusting itself. As Sam watched, the tuning needle slid from one station to another, until it finally settled.

A very young Michael Jackson's voice drifted out of the radio, soothing him. "_Just call my name and I'll be there._"

Sam smiled, snuggling down under the covers. At that moment, he wanted sleep more than he'd ever wanted anything in his entire life. The radio kept playing, reminding him that Bee was keeping watch from the parking lot. Sam was safe, he was tucked in bed, and his arms and legs felt suddenly heavy, like they were filled with sand. Sam sighed, and felt something deep inside him let go, like a cramped muscle slowly relaxing.

For the first time in over a month, he let himself drift to sleep.

* * *

Sam wasn't sure what woke him up: the blue light flooding his hotel room, the knocking at the door, or the sound of his own screams. He glanced around the motel room, confused, and the blue light flooded him again, coming in through the curtains. This time, a knock came with it, loud enough to make the wall tremble. Tumbling out of bed, Sam opened the shades to reveal Bumblebee's head framed in Sam's second-story window. His glowing round optics seemed even bigger than usual, and combined with his O-shaped mouth, they gave him an expression of worry. Sam was reaching for the window lock when somebody knocked on the door again, more forcibly this time.

Gesturing at Bumblebee to get back, Sam padded to the door in his boxers. A nervous-looking man a few years older than Sam stood there, hand already raised to pound again. After a second, Sam recognized him as the man from the front desk.

"Is everything all right sir?" the desk clerk asked.

Sam blinked, and rubbed a hand through his hair. "Um, yeah. Yeah. Everything's fine."

"In that case, I'll have to ask you to quiet down," the desk clerk said. "You've had several complaints from neighboring rooms."

"Complaints?" Sam asked blearily.

"You were screaming."

"Oh. Sorry. Bad dreams." Sam nervously glanced over the desk clerks shoulder; in the hallway, three other room doors were open, their occupants peering out to watch the exchange. Suddenly, Sam wanted nothing more than to get out of their sight and away from that room. He wasn't sure he could even approach the bed again without seeing the Decepticon peeking out from beneath the covers.

"I'm not as tired as I thought I was," Sam said. "Do you think I could check out early?"

"That might be for the best," the desk clerk said, looking relieved.

Sam nodded, wearily. "Just give me fifteen minutes to pack my stuff," he said, and closed the door, locking it firmly behind him.

Sam ran back to the window and opened it, sticking his head outside. Bumblebee was flattened against the side of the building, trying (and failing) to look inconspicuous as only a fifteen-foot robot can.

"Bumblebee," Sam whispered, worried that the neighbors might call the front desk on him again if he spoke any louder. "The coast is clear."

"Are you all right?" Bumblebee asked, returning to the window. His blue optics fixed on Sam, who could only guess what the Autobot's sensors were picking up from him. Sam’s heart was beating so loudly that he bet even a human could hear it, and he felt like he was going to fall over on his feet.

"I . . . it was Scalpel," Sam stammered, and then it all came out of him in a jumble of words. The nightmares, the hallucinations, the months of Not Sleeping. Bee listened to it him quietly, his blue optics glowing with compassion. When Sam finally drew silent with a shuddering breath, Bumblebee lifted a hand to the window and brushed Sam's cheek with the very tip of one enormous finger.

Sam swallowed, oddly touched. Who would guess that a robot capable of putting his fist through the wall of a building could be so gentle? To both of their surprise, Sam wrapped his arms around Bumblebee's hand and nuzzled into the finger still pressed against the side of his face. The metal was cool under his skin, but not unpleasant. Bee acquiesced to the embrace, and lifted his other fingers to stroke Sam's back. For a long moment they stayed like that, quiet except for Sam's ragged breath and the faint hum of Bee's scanners as he continued to monitor the human. Then a new thought occurred to Sam, and he pulled away.

"Bee," he said. "When you transformed, what happened to all of the stuff in your trunk?"

* * *

Together, the Autobot and the human stood in the dark lot behind the hotel, studying the wreckage of Sam's belongings. Sam couldn't even tell what most of them were anymore: the jumbled pile in front of him looked like it had been run through a paper shredder, tossed in a blender, set on fire, and stomped on for good measure.

"Well," Sam said philosophically. "I suppose it could have been worse." At least his backpack had been in the hotel room with him. He hadn't lost his laptop, and he had a change of clothes in there.

"You were shouting my name," Bee said, sounding embarrassed. "I thought you were in danger."

"It's okay," Sam said.

To his surprise, he meant it. As he poked the ruined mess with his sneaker, Sam only felt a faint sense of relief. It felt comforting, in a way, to shed those boxes of stuff that he’d carried into his dorm room with him. It was tangible proof that he wasn't the same Sam Witwicky who'd been so eager to run across the country for college, away from the girl who wanted him to say "I love you" and away from the Autobot he'd said it to once too often. Between the alien symbols etched in his brain and the illusionary Decepticon following him around, Sam's life felt a little too cluttered, as it was. Besides, it was comforting, in a way, to know that even Bee was fallible. To know that the sound of Sam's screams could send the Autobot tumbling into battle mode, even when his sensors told him there was nothing to fight.

"Hey," Sam said. "If I hadn't come to the window, would you have broken through the wall or something to wake me up?"

Bumblebee muttered something static-y, garbled, and rude-sounding. Sam wasn't sure that it was English.

"Would you have leveled the building?" he persisted, grinning up at the embarrassed Autobot.

"I might level you in a moment," Bee warned, but his voice held an undertone of reluctant amusement.

Sam laughed, and patted Bumblebee on the leg. "Help me clean this up," he said. "I want to get back on the road"

* * *

Sam felt in fine spirits as they drove away from the hotel. Bee's navigation system was easily able to locate an all-night coffee stand, and between the caffeine, the adrenaline rush from his nightmare, and the relief of finally confessing his insomnia to Bee, Sam almost felt like he could fly. Maybe riding in an Autobot was as good as flying. At three in the morning, Bee was one of the only cars on the road, and he was taking advantage of the situation by managing speeds that even he couldn't usually pull off in the daylight. If anyone else had been driving, Sam would have been scared shitless. As it was, he just leaned back in the driver's seat and marveled at Bee's skill.

"It's so peaceful!" Sam said, looking out the windows.

"I do enjoy driving at night," Bee admitted.

"Why don't we do this more often?"

"Because you should be in bed," the Autobot said dryly.

"I could sleep in the daytime," Sam suggested. "At night, we could go out riding. We could fight crime or something."

"I suspect that your parents and Mikaela might raise some objections with that arrangement." Bee's tone was teasing, jovial, but at the words, Sam froze as though he'd been struck. He glared at the floorboards and sipped his coffee, unsure how to even respond.

Bee's engine whirred at him. "Sam?"

"Mikaela and I broke up," Sam admitted.

Bumblebee swerved suddenly, as though he'd lost his balance while taking a curve. Caught by surprise, Sam spilled coffee on his chest and yelped, and even Bee hissed as some of the hot liquid hit the leather upholstery.

"Shit, Bee!" Sam yelled, simultaneously trying to peel off his t-shirt and wipe the coffee off Bee's upholstery. "What the hell was that?"

"I'm sorry," Bee said sheepishly. "You caught me by surprise."

The vents in front of Sam opened, spilling ice-cold air onto him. It felt good against Sam's reddened chest, but raised goose bumps on his bare arms. Sam shivered, and leaned back into the driver’s seat.

"You and Mikaela seemed quite . . . attached to each other," Bumblebee said, as if trying to wrap his mind around the idea of them breaking up.

"I fucked up with her big time, Bee," Sam said, twisting around in the driver's seat to retrieve his backpack from the backseat. "I'm not surprised she finally had enough of me." He opened the backpack and found the college sweater he'd left in there.

Bee made a soft, questioning, chirp as Sam pulled the sweater over his head.

Sighing, Sam told him about the missed webcam dates, the fight with Leo, and the box of stuff Mikaela had sent back to him. "She's not even taking my phone calls anymore, Bee," Sam finished, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. "I thought maybe if I explained what happened . . ."

"She should have given you the chance to explain yourself," Bee said darkly.

The edge to the Autobot's voice surprised Sam, and he found himself rushing to speak up on Mikaela's behalf. "Leo said I took her for granted. Maybe he was right. I mean, look at me. I'm not in her league. When a guy like me manages to land a girl like Mikaela, he should, like, worship her. I'm just amazed that she stuck around as long as she did."

"Sam," Bee said, "You are more than 'in her league'."

Sam snorted, sinking into the driver's seat. "Maybe in your world," he said. "On earth, a guy like me is lucky to even breathe the same air as someone that gorgeous."

"You consider yourself to be unattractive?" Bee asked. Sam wasn't sure whether to be flattered or amused at the surprise in his voice.

"Bee, Mikaela usually dated guys like Trent. Handsome. Built. I'm about as average-looking as you can get."

"I find you quite aesthetically pleasing," Bee said loyally, and Sam burst out laughing.

"You're just saying that because you're my car."

In response, Christina Aguilera's voice spilled out of the radio. "_You are beautiful, no matter what they say . . ._"

"I hate that song!" Sam cried, setting his empty coffee cup in the cup holder and slamming his hands over his ears. Bee tortured him with a few more verses, until Sam was laughing and holding his hands up in defeat.

"I'm sorry! I give up! You're more than a car. You're a fucking amazing alien robot, and I shouldn't question your judgment ever again!"

Bee bounced smugly on his tires as the music faded, and Sam leaned back against the headrest, still chuckling softly. In the darkness, he let himself draw his knees up to his chest so he could sit more comfortably. He didn't have to pretend to drive on a dark and empty road. Bee lowered the seat so he could lie back, and Sam sighed, content.

I'm not sure why you're so nice to me," Sam said softly, stroking the edge of his seat. "I've been kind of a jerk to you this year, too."

"_That's what friends are for,_" Dionne Warwick sang.

"Cut it out!" Sam snapped, louder than he'd intended. The dashboard visibly sagged, and Sam shook his head. Nothing looked more pathetic than a pouting Camaro.

"Look," Sam said in a softer voice, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's just . . . I don't want you act like what I did was okay. It wasn't. I treated you like crap; I turned my back on my friends; I got Optimus Prime killed; and then I ran away to college again and I even screwed that up! I'm not sure why you're not mad at me. I would be."

Bumblebee was silent for a moment, save for the purr of his engine. Then his own voice, he said, "I've noticed that you can be cruel to the people you care about. Your parents, for example."

"What?!" Sam said. "I'm not cruel to --"

"You often argue with them unnecessarily," Bumblebee persisted. "You ignore their wishes when they conflict with your own. You get embarrassed when they interact with your peers, and you become unreasonably defensive when they inquire about your safety. In addition, you frequently --"

"Okay, okay," Sam interrupted. "I get the picture."

"At first your antagonism towards your progenitors confused me. But the research I've done online suggests such behavior is normal for a human of your age." Bumblebee's voice held a slightly questioning note.

Sam nodded, knowing that Bumblebee's internal sensors would register the gesture. "Most teenagers kind of hate their parents," he agreed.

"Do you ever worry that your parents, in turn, might hate you?" Bumblebee asked.  
Sam laughed bitterly. "Dad might right now. He just spent $40,000 so I could fail all my classes and get kicked out of the dorm."

Bumblebee didn't answer. After a moment, Sam squirmed, uncomfortable with the silence.

"No," he admitted. "Dad doesn't hate me. He's probably pissed as hell. They both will be. They'll scream at me and punish me and probably never buy me so much as a candy bar again. But . . . they're my parents. They love me."

"Humans use a word for the bond between parent and child," Bumblebee said thoughtfully. "Unconditional. That's how I care for you, Sam."

"Are you saying that you think of me like a son?" The thought worried him in ways he couldn't explain.

"No," Bumblebee said at once, and Sam exhaled, relieved. "Autobots don't have families as humans do," Bumblebee continued. "We don't have parents or children. The concept is foreign to us. The All Spark created all life on Cybertron. We are grateful to it, but we don't love it. Not as you love your parents, and not as I love you."

"You . . . love me?" Something he couldn't identify flared in Sam's chest at the thought. Sure, he'd said those same words to Bumblebee, on more than one occasion. _I love you, man._ He'd meant it, even. Hell, he'd told Bumblebee he loved him long before he got brave enough to tell Mikaela. But that was different. Sam had always done his best to sound casual, just one of the guys. Bumblebee made the words sound like a declaration or something, and Sam wasn't sure how to respond to the Autobot's quiet intensity without doing something that would probably embarrass him later.

"Unconditionally," Bumblebee repeated. "You have frustrated me sometimes, Sam. On occasion, you've even angered me. But I forgive you. As I hope you forgive my actions."

"But you didn't do anything wrong!" Sam protested.

The disco ball hanging from Bumblebee's rear-view mirror swayed a little. Sam almost got the impression that Bumblebee was shaking his head. "I've been re-processing my expectations towards you, Sam. I realize that I've been somewhat . . . selfish . . . in my desire to remain with you. You are young. You have your life ahead of you. Surely you should be allowed to decide to live it without my presence, if you so desire."

"But I do!" Sam protested. "I mean . . . yeah, I wanted to try a year without you at school. I guess I needed some distance. I don't know. But that doesn't mean I want you out of my life. Whatever happens, you're still my friend."

"Exactly," Bumblebee said softly. Sam leaned back against the headrest, thoughtful. Bumblebee apparently decided that the conversation was over, and began to play a soft jazz song without words. Sam watched the trees zipping past outside the window.  
After a few miles, he ventured, "Bee?"

"Yes?"

"I love you, too. You know that right?"

"Yes, Sam."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The three songs I didn't attach artists' names to were "Something to Say" by Toad the Wet Sprocket, "Paper Planes" by M.I.A., and "Don't Tell Mama" from Cabaret.


	3. Tell Me Where It Hurts

Sam drifted off in the driver's seat during the pale twilight hour just before dawn. He'd been staring at the road ahead of them, not really thinking of anything in particular. The next thing he knew, his face was pressed against the side of the window, his neck was cramping, and Bee was nudging him with the headrest, suggesting that the back seat would be more comfortable. Sam didn't actually remember moving, but he must have, because the next time he woke up -- Scalpel had been scuttling up his chest, peering into his mouth, getting ready to -- Sam was curled in the back seat. Bee was rocking him gently, the entire seat shifting beneath Sam like a cradle. The Autobot's voice was soft and soothing.

"It's all right, Sam. You're safe. I've got you."

And Sam wanted to protest -- couldn't Bee see that Scalpel was right there? -- but that was ridiculous. If Scalpel had gotten inside the cab, Bee would know, as surely as Sam had known when the Decepticon had crawled inside of him. Warm air blew through Sam's hair from the air vents, as good as fingers stroking it. Sam mumbled, and rolled onto his side, blindly stretching out his arm to gather up as much of the Autobot as he could reach. He wasn't sure if the driver's seat moved back towards him or if the back seat slid forward, but he managed to hook his arm around the driver's seat, clinging to it like a teddy bear. The leather upholstery was warm beneath Sam's cheek. Nuzzling into it, Sam fell asleep. For the first time in months, the nightmares didn't follow him.

* * *  
Sam woke to the smell of coffee and the horrifying realization that he was drooling on Bee's upholstery.  
"Shit," he mumbled, leaning up on one elbow and wiping his mouth. Bee shuddered a bit underneath him, and Sam winced, doing his best to mop the leather seat with the sleeve of his sweater. "Sorry, Bee," Sam muttered, reddening with embarrassment.

"Is it natural for humans to leak lubricants in that manner during their recharge period?" Beneath the careful neutrality of Bee's voice, Sam thought he detected a hint of revulsion, and he blushed even harder. Thank God that he'd only been drooling and not having a wet dream or something.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Sometimes. Sorry, I know it's gross."

"It was . . . unexpected," Bee said.

Desperately hoping to change the subject, Sam asked, "How long was I asleep?" Bee had darkened the windows at some point, and from the light in the cab, Sam couldn't even tell if it was night or day.

"14.85 hours," Bee responded. "It's 6:04 p.m."

"Wow." Sam yawned and stretched, trying to work the kinks out of his back. "I haven't slept that long in months. Years, even."

"You needed it," Bee said.

"Yeah," Sam acknowledged, rolling his shoulders. "Hey," he said, "When I woke up, I thought I smelled . . . " he trailed off as he spotted the coffee cup steaming in the front cup holder. "You are the best car in the whole world," Sam said, climbing up into the driver's seat. "The whole universe."

Bee preened, dashboard lights twinkling, and Sam patted the steering wheel as he settled into the driver's seat. Sam sipped his coffee and smiled, humming a little in appreciation. Bee had ordered it exactly the way he liked, raw sugar and everything.

"What would I do without you?" Sam asked, taking another sip.

"You would probably have fewer nightmares," Bee said, earning himself a smack on the dashboard.

Sam settled back to drink his coffee, resting one hand on the steering wheel even though he didn't need to pretend to drive with the windows darkened. He felt closer than usual to Bumblebee this morning -- not surprising, he supposed, since he'd spent the whole day sleeping inside the Autobot. The soft hum of Bee's engine vibrated down to Sam's bones; the steady whisper of his tires on the concrete sounded like music; and the leather seat beneath Sam felt warm. Alive. Sam grinned at the thought -- of course Bee was alive. He'd proved that the moment he'd "stolen" himself from Sam's house. But sometimes it was easy to forget that Bee wasn't just a kick-ass robot who could transform into an equally kick-ass Camaro, and easier, still, to forget that Bee was more than just a friend, even the best friend that Sam had ever had. Bee was . . . Sam didn't think there was a word quite wonderful enough to describe him, at least not in English. Aside from his parents, Sam couldn't think of anyone else who would drive across the country to pick him up off his ass. He couldn't think of anyone else who so obviously cared for him like Bee did. Sam didn't realize that he was rubbing little circles on the steering wheel with his fingertips until Bumblebee made a noise remarkably similar to a human clearing his throat.

"Sam?"

"What?" Sam realized what he'd been doing and blushed, jerking away. "Sorry."

"It's . . . not an unpleasant sensation," Bee said softly.

Something quivered in the pit of Sam's stomach, though he couldn't say exactly what. Trying not to look at Bee, which was hard, considering he was _in_ Bee, he reached out and stroked another slow circle on the steering wheel. It trembled slightly beneath his hand, and Bee made a soft, surprised noise. Sam squeezed the steering wheel firmly and drew his hand back to his lap, blushing even harder than before.

The radio knob turned wildly, the tuning needle sliding from station to station until Bee finally settled on a bluegrass song, of all things.

"_Rock me, mama, like a wagon wheel  
Rock me, mama, any way you feel  
Hey, mama rock me_"

Sam burst out laughing at Bee's taste in music. Still blushing, he sang along with the chorus the next time it came around, tapping his foot against the floor mat. Bee jostled him a bit, obviously pleased. The tint on the windows abruptly faded, flooding the cab with the low, evening sun. Sam looked out at the unfamiliar landscape and smiled. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this relaxed. Safe inside the Camaro, Sam could almost forget the shit storm that was bound to happen when he finally got home. Part of him wished that they didn't have to go home at all, that he and Bee could just travel the country together in a never-ending road trip.

Unfortunately, another part of him was insisting they stop driving, and soon. Sam squirmed in his seat, wishing that Bumblebee hadn't asked him about leaking lubricants earlier. Sometimes, Sam thought it must be awfully nice to be a giant robot. His Autobot friends might need to deal with the occasional Decepticon, but they never had to put up embarrassing, and sometimes just plain gross, facts of organic life.

"Hey, Bee?" Sam said, and the radio quieted down so that he didn't have to shout over it. "Um, could we find a gas station or something?" Sam asked. "I need to use the bathroom."

To Sam's relief, Bumblebee only said, "Of course.

Bee did one better, and found a gas station with a burger joint attached. After he'd relieved his most urgent need, Sam lingered in the bathroom to wash his face and pull on a fresh t-shirt from his back pack. An old man stepped into the mens' room while Sam was changing, and gave him a suspicious glance before disappearing into a stall. Sam wondered if the old man thought he was homeless. If he were, Sam thought, at least he had one seriously cool car to move into. As he waited in line at the burger joint, Sam wondered what Bee would do if he asked to live inside the Camaro.

Sam had been planning to eat in one of the booths inside, but as he collected his tray, he spotted Scalpel hiding behind a garbage can. Sam shuddered, wondering why he'd been so stupid as to assume that one night of sleep meant that the hallucinations were over. As he carried his food to the faded picnic table outside the gas station, he told himself that he wanted to feel the night air. It had nothing to do with the yellow Camaro sitting in the parking lot.

His cell phone rang as Sam settled onto the splintery picnic table bench. Worry seethed in his stomach, and Sam pulled the phone out of his pocket tenderly. He'd been waiting for his parents to call since he left the message on their answering machine. He felt hurt that they hadn't responded to him before now, even if only to yell at him. If Bee hadn't come, would they have left Sam to his own devices? To his surprise, though, when Sam glanced at his caller ID, it didn't say "Mom and Dad."

"Bee?" Sam asked, flipping open the phone. He stared at the Camaro in the parking lot, wondering what on earth couldn't wait until Sam was back in the car.

"Are you all right?" Bumblebee asked.

Sam sighed. "Bee, I'm sitting about six feet in front of you eating a hamburger. You know I'm all right."

"Moments ago, your heart rate spiked and adrenaline flooded your system," Bumblebee said, undeterred. "Something frightened you."

"It's nothing," Sam said. "Forget it. It was stupid."

"Whatever it is, you can tell me," Bee persisted.

Would anybody notice if he threw his fries at his car? Sam thought about it briefly, wondering if the possible embarrassment might be worth it. Of course, the fries were good, and he'd only have to wash ketchup off the Camaro later. Sighing, Sam gave up. "It was another hallucination," he admitted. "I thought I saw Scalpel."

Bee's headlights flashed. Even from this distance, Sam thought he heard the soft hum of Bumblebee's scanners.

"I'm not picking up any trace of a Decepticon presence," Bumblebee said.

"I know. I told you, it's stupid. That's why I didn't want to say anything."

"You went through an extraordinarily stressful encounter in September," Bumblebee said. "It's not surprising that you're dealing with the effects of it now."

"My food is getting cold," Sam said. The Autobot took the hint and hung up.

Feeling like a jerk, Sam finished eating quietly, wondering where his good mood had gone. Twenty minutes ago, he'd felt like everything was right with the world. Now, he couldn't even identify all of the emotions tugging at his attention. He felt bad for snapping at Bee, even though the Autobot's overprotective streak annoyed him. He felt mad at himself for worrying about a stupid hallucination in the first place. He worried that the hallucinations would never stop. He worried his parents would never talk to him again.

Sam glanced at his cell phone one more time. Maybe his parents had called, and he just hadn't noticed. Knowing Bee, Sam wouldn't have been surprised if the Autobot had been silenced his phone while Sam slept. He had no new voice messages and no missed calls either. Swallowing, Sam put the phone back in his pocket, and carried his tray inside. Glancing at the Camaro in the parking lot, he felt another twinge of worry in his stomach. He hoped Bee wasn't mad at him for snapping in the parking lot. He'd felt so close to Bumblebee earlier. The last thing he wanted was to hurt the Autobot's feelings after Bee had done so much to help him.

As he walked back to the parking lot, Sam resolved to set things right. "Bee," he said, getting into the Camaro.

At the same time, Bumblebee said, "Sam --"

"I'm sorry," they said in unison.

Sam burst out laughing, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. Beneath him, Bee was shaking with laughter, too. "I was a jerk, man," Sam said. "This whole hallucination thing just freaks me out."

"You were right to be annoyed," Bumblebee said. "I realize that I can be too protective of you sometimes. Forgive me, Sam. It's difficult for me to see you hurting and not be able to help."

"I know," Sam said. "I'm just not sure anyone can help me with this, Bee. I feel like I'm going crazy. Maybe I just need some serious therapy." Sam patted the steering wheel, and sat up straight, reaching for his seatbelt. "Can I drive?" he asked. At least driving would distract him from his thoughts for awhile.

Bee obediently started the ignition, and Sam backed them out of the parking lot.

For a long time, Sam drove in silence while Bee worked the radio. When he wasn't using song lyrics to communicate, Bee's taste in music tended towards the eclectic, at best. He'd move from the pulsing bass of hip hop to a flute concerto, then follow that up with a piece of electronica or some twangy country. Sam tapped the radio knob whenever Bee picked something too weird, but otherwise just drove and listened. It wasn't until Bee played the same song twice in a row (Garbage's "Tell Me Where it Hurts") that Sam realized his car was a bit distracted.

Testing his theory, Sam took his foot off the accelerator and slowed them down to the speed limit. Generally, Bee grumbled whenever Sam insisted on going anything less than twenty over, but the Camaro slowed without a protest. Frowning, Sam moved them into the right lane. He'd managed to slow down to forty miles an hour before Bee seized the controls back from him.

"What's the matter?" Bee asked, shooting ahead fast enough to squeal his tires.

"I was going to ask you the same question," Sam said. "You seem a little bit out of it."

"I was distracted," Bee admitted.

Sam waited a moment, but Bumblebee didn't volunteer any more information. "Penny for your thoughts?" Sam said at last.

Bee's engine whirred as he looked up the idiom. "I've been researching your . . . condition," Bee said at last. "It seems fairly normal for humans to react as you have to troubling events."

"Post-traumatic stress syndrome," Sam said. "I know. I read up on it." He tensed, wondering what was coming next. He expected a list of symptoms, or maybe some advice from the internet. Instead, Bee's next words floored him.

"Did you know that I once went through something similar?"

"Seriously? Transformers can get PTSD?"

"Our species share many emotional similarities, despite our physical differences," Bee said. "We have a different name for the syndrome, but yes, we are afflicted by it."

"When did you get it?" Sam asked. "I mean, if you don't mind talking about it."

"I don't mind talking about it with you," Bee assured him. "I began experiencing symptoms similar to yours after I confronted Megatron at Tyger Pax."

"When you lost your voice," Sam said, remembering. Bee had mentioned the encounter to him before, but never in detail. From the little bit Sam had heard about it, he didn't blame him.

"Yes. It was an . . . unpleasant experience. Megatron left me for dead. For years after I had otherwise physically recovered, I had difficulty entering recharge period at night. Fragments of the memory would replay at inappropriate times."

"How did you get better?" Sam asked. "I mean, you did get better, right?"

"I did," Bee said. "Like you, I tried to hide my affliction at first. I felt embarrassed to have been so affected by the encounter with Megatron. I told myself that a true soldier would have withstood it better. However, my teammates eventually recognized my symptoms. Fortunately, once Ratchet diagnosed the condition, curing it was a relatively simple process."

"Really?" Sam asked.

"In both of our species, the syndrome seems to have the same cause. A traumatic memory file is so corrupted that our processors, our brains, if you will, have difficulty storing it properly. Thus, the memory never gets regulated to long-term storage, but instead remains open, causing the afflicted person to relive it over and over again."

"That makes sense," Sam said softly. "How did Ratchet cure you?"

"He didn't," Bumblebee said, to Sam's surprise. "Optimus Prime did. He helped me to store the memory file properly."

"That's it?"

"That's it," Bee confirmed. "I can still access those memories, but they don't . . . affect . . . me as deeply as they once did."

Sam quirked his lips. "I wish PTSD were that easy to cure in humans."

Bee remained silent, for a few miles. Even the radio didn't make a sound. Sam leaned back in his seat, assuming the conversation was over.

"It might be possible for me to cure you," Bee said softly.

"What?" Sam stared down at the dashboard. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry. His heart was hammering in his chest.

"To my knowledge, a link of the sort Optimus Prime established with me has never been attempted with a human," Bumblebee said. "However, it may be possible." He hesitated a moment, and then said, "I would like to try this with you, Sam."

"WIll it hurt?" Sam asked.

Bee considered it. "Perhaps initially. I'm not sure how your nervous system would handle the original connection."

"What kind of connection?" Sam asked, feeling nervous. "Are we talking wires? Sockets? I'm not up for invasive surgery here, Bee."

"Nothing like that," Bee hastened to assure him. "I've been looking through medical files about the human brain. Granted, I'm not an expert like Ratchet is, but I believe that you should be able to produce brain waves at a high enough frequency for me to access wirelessly."

"Like telepathy?"

"An apt comparison," Bee admitted. "Although there's nothing mystical about it. Think of it as a secure network. I would help you to encode your memory files and sort it back into the proper sequence in your mind."

"When you put it like that, it sounds almost boring," Sam said.

"It's not." The fervor in Bee's voice surprised Sam. "It would be . . . intimate," Bee said. "The procedure is generally only attempted by one's closest friends." Bee hesitated, then added, "Of course, if you didn't want to attempt this with me, I would understand."

Sam rested a hand on the dashboard. "What would we have to do?" he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Bee played is "Rock Me, Mama" by Old Crow Medicine Show.


	4. If I Could Read Your Mind

Sam sat cross-legged on the grass, trying to direct his breathing like Bee told him. In. Out. In. Out. His nose itched. Even with his eyes closed, Sam felt uncomfortably aware of Bumblebee crouching over him, monitoring his every breath. Bumblebee had managed to locate a remote field where he could safely transform without being noticed. On the drive there, he'd rambled about something called theta waves, which the human brain apparently produced in a meditative state. It had sounded well and good in the car, but now that he was sitting on the grass, trying to pay attention to his breathing, Sam was realizing that a meditative state was easier to talk about than to actually reach. His leg was starting to cramp. His foot was falling asleep. He was thirsty.

"This isn't working," Sam said finally. He opened his eyes to see Bumblebee peering down at him.

"You're too tense," Bumblebee said. "Perhaps we should try a different approach."

"Like what?" Sam asked.

Bumblebee's processors whirred as he thought. "I have an idea," he said at last. On his knees, the Autobot scooted closer to Sam. Reaching out a hand, Bee rested his fingers on Sam's back, and gently began to stroke it. After a brief moment of shock (Sam realized that he was probably the first person on earth to get a back rub from an alien robot), Sam relaxed and let himself enjoy the massage. Even through his sweater, he could feel the warmth of Bee's fingertips. They'd started vibrating slightly.

"Listen to my voice," Bumblebee said. "Feel yourself relax."

Sam sighed appreciatively as Bee worked out a particularly painful knot. Bumblebee's fingers were moving over him deftly and surely, as if he knew the location of each knot. Come to think of it, Sam realized, he probably did. Bumblebee's voice washed over him, rich and warm, with only the slightest electronic edge to remind Sam that he wasn't human. When Bee's vocal processors had first been repaired, his British accent had shocked and amused Sam. In the months to follow, that first surprise had faded, and Sam had gotten used to Bumblebee's voice. He'd never realized how much he loved it before, though.

"Your tension is draining away," Bumblebee said, stroking a gentle fingertip on the back of Sam's neck.

Sam couldn't help it: he moaned as his tight muscles began to relax. He felt himself melting beneath Bee's touch, and he let himself roll back against the Autobot's hand, trusting Bumblebee to catch him.

"You are relaxing," Bee said softly. "Your body is becoming heavy. You are -- Sam. Sam!"

"What?" Sam said, jerking awake.

"You fell asleep." Bee peered down at him with chagrin.

"Sorry," Sam said, yawning. "You just really had me relaxed."

Bee made a low, buzzing chirp that sounded something like a muffled laugh mixed with a sigh.

"I guess I'm just not good at making theta waves," Sam said.

"It might just take practice," Bee said, sounding disappointed.

Sam patted Bee's arm. "It was a good try," he said. "We knew it might not work."

Bumblebee pulled away from Sam, and abruptly stood. From the ground, Sam peered up at him, watching as Bumblebee paced a few feet away. Between Bee's loudly-whirring processors and his pose, Sam almost got the idea that the Autobot was arguing with himself. Finally, Bee turned back to him.

"There is another way we could do this, Sam," Bumblebee said. His voice sounded quiet. Tentative. "It might be uncomfortable for you, though."

Sam hesitated only a second. "I trust you, Bee," he said. "Whatever it is, if you think it will help, I'll try it."

Folding his door-wings out of the way, the Autobot lay on his back a few feet away from Sam. Bumblebee extended a hand towards the human, and after a second, Sam realized that he wanted him to climb on. Sam stood and brushed himself off. He stepped into Bee's palm, gripping the thumb for balance. Bee's hand lifted, carrying Sam closer to the prone Autobot. Sam heard the hiss of hydraulics beneath him. Peering down, he saw the yellow armored plates of Bee's chest opening and sliding away from each other to reveal a dizzying array of cables and wires, and the blue spark, pulsing in its chamber. Sam swallowed, uncomfortably sure that he was looking at something intensely private. He hadn't seen an Autobot's spark since Optimus Prime had opened his chest in Mission City and commanded Sam to thrust the cube into it.

"I had difficulty accessing your thoughts," Bumblebee said. "It might be easier if you try accessing mine instead."

"How can that be easier?" Sam asked. "You know how to form wireless connections and things. I don't. I've never done anything like this."

"You've held the All Spark," Bee corrected him. "You've carried its message inside of you. You've spoken to the dead Primes. Sam, you've had far, far more experience connecting to Autobots than I have to humans."

Bee deposited Sam between the two yellow chest plates, where a metal ledge, of sorts, provided just enough room for a human to sit. Sam settled there nervously, acutely aware of the clustered wires below him, of the spark pulsing less than a foot away. Without the armor in place, Bumblebee looked surprisingly vulnerable.

"Are you sure about this?" Sam said. "Could I . . . hurt you?"

"You could," Bee acknowledged. "But you won't. I trust you, Sam."

Sam swallowed. "What should I do?"

In response, Bumblebee's enormous hands came up, framing Sam's face. With careful gentleness, his fingertips came down to rest on Sam's temples, on the top of his head, and on the back of his neck, until Sam felt like he were wearing an elaborate metal helmet. Bee's thumbs settled on Sam's cheeks, and Sam shivered at the intimacy of the touch.

"Is this all right?" Bumblebee asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's fine."

"It will be easier for me to monitor your brain waves like this," Bumblebee explained.

Sam nodded, feeling Bumblebee's hands shifting with him as he moved. "What should I do?"

Bee's processors whirred, and the Autobot shrugged, his chest lifting beneath Sam. "I'm not sure," Bee admitted. "I'm hoping that the faint radiation from my spark will help bring your past experiences to mind. Just . . . try remembering the All Spark."

Remember the All Spark. Right. Sam closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. The All Spark. Alien symbols in his mind, formulae he shouldn't be able to understand, but did. The All Spark, burning in his hands as he thrust it up into Megatron's chest. The cube. Bee handing him the cube. The look on Bee's face. Bee. Bumblebee. His alien protector. His best friend. His . . . Sam didn't know what. Bumblebee, dragging himself out of the pit in Mission City, his legs mangled and useless. Bumblebee, pressing the cube into Sam's hands, entrusting him with the fate of both their worlds. Bumblebee.

The alien symbols swam in Sam's mind, rearranging themselves into patterns he couldn't begin to comprehend. "_You're the person I care about most in the world._" Bumblebee, so patient and forgiving. Bumblebee, who loved him, loved him!, unconditionally. Warmth ran through Sam, like a golden light suffusing his veins. With a surety he didn't quite understand, Sam focused the light, letting it surge up through the top of his head, into Bee's fingers. Bee gasped beneath him, chest rising slightly, and burst of light flared before Sam's eyes, visible even through his closed eyelids. The symbols glowed and faded away, replaced by a string of numbers too vast for Sam to comprehend.

**Access granted** Sam felt rather than heard the words, and suddenly he was falling, rushing forward like a boat swept up by a golden current. He gasped, and felt a warm wave of laughter washing over him, and Bee's surging pride in Sam, his joy.

"Sam," Bee sang in his mind, warm, and rich, and filled with reverence. Sam couldn't see the Autobot, but he felt him, everywhere, overwhelming him. Sam felt himself responding by reaching out like he had in the car, trying to touch as much of Bumblebee as he could. The walls of the current rose around him, warm and safe, a golden tunnel pulsing with light.

"This is your mind?" Sam asked, awed.

"Part of it," Bee said. The Autobot's voice pulsed around Sam, as if the words were forming on the golden walls around him. It might have been disconcerting, hearing Bumblebee without seeing him, but Sam had gotten used to hearing Bumblebee's disembodied voice drifting through the Camaro. "I've created a kind of . . . lobby for us." Bumblebee's dissatisfaction with the term practically vibrated. Sam could feel his frustration with human language. "I thought you might need to get accustomed to the sensation before we attempted a deeper connection."

"Kind of like dipping my feet into a pool before diving in," Sam said thoughtfully.

Bee's mind whirred around him -- Sam felt vaguely aware of Bee calling up search engines and sorting through data, hundreds of web pages pouring through the Autobot's processors while he searched for an example of the term. To Sam, it felt a bit like listening to a waterfall he couldn't see.

"Perhaps that might be a good place to start," Bumblebee said.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"Remember dipping your feet into a pool," Bumblebee said. "Show me what water feels like on human skin."

Sam closed his eyes, thinking. The last time he'd gone swimming had been the summer after graduation. Mikaela's friends had thrown a party at the lake, and this time, Sam had been, well, not invited, exactly, but expected, as Mikaela's date. He remembered watching Mikaela strip off her shorts and tank top to reveal a bikini underneath, and wondering again how he'd managed to get so lucky.

"The water," Bee reminded him.

"Can you see what I'm thinking about?" Sam asked.

"I'm experiencing the memory as you do, Sam. It's happening to me as it happened to you."

Sam swallowed, realizing what Bee had meant when he said it would be intimate. He'd better not focus too much on Mikaela and her bikini. Instead, Sam tried to call up the warmth of sunlight on his bare chest, of the damp, slick boards of the dock beneath his feet. It had rocked beneath him as he walked along it, buoyed up and down by the water. Sam remembered the sway of Mikaela's hips as she walked before him. She'd smelled like coconut that day, her sunscreen, probably, and -- water, Sam reminded himself. Bee's amusement rippled around him, and Sam felt himself blush.

At the end of the dock, Mikaela had turned, giving Sam a sultry smile before dashing forward and jumping into the lake. Sam laughed as cool droplets of water splashed against him. Mikaela broke to the surface, gasping.

"Come in!" she yelled, and Sam sat at the edge of the dock, dipping in his feet. Cold water lapped against his ankles, shocking at first, then comfortable as his feet gradually acclimated to the new temperature. Mikaela swam close to him, water clumping her eyelids together in little stars.

"Sam," she said, reaching for him impatiently. She caught his arms, pulling him down, and Bee gasped with Sam as he felt the shock of cold water against his sun-warmed skin. Laughing as he broke the surface, Sam lunged for Mikaela, and she squealed, splashing away from him.

Sam opened his eyes, and the memory faded away.

"Thank you, Sam," Bumblebee said softly.

"Did you like it?" Sam asked, suddenly shy.

"It was fascinating," Bumblebee said. "You experience temperature variations so much more deeply than we do."

"What does water feel like to you?" Sam asked.

"Not as enjoyable, I'm afraid," Bumblebee said. "We aren't buoyant as humans are."

Bee tugged at him -- that was the only word to describe it -- and suddenly Sam found himself standing on the shore of a lake, looking down at his reflection below. _That's . . . wow,_ he thought. Reflected in the water, Bumblebee's face looked the same as always, but his armor, though still yellow, lacked the distinctive Camaro detailing that Sam loved. _He must have had a different alt form,_ Sam thought, but he didn't have time to reflect on it further. Bees optics adjusted -- oh God, he'd never think of them as eyes again -- machinery whirring as his processor corrected for the refraction of the water. Sam found himself looking through it, past the reflection, and focusing on the Decepticon drilling through the bottom of the lake bed, 1.43 kilometers down.

"Who is that?" Sam asked.

"His name is Rumble," Bumblebee answered, and leaped.

Sam gasped as the Autobot hit the water -- Bee was right, his armored plating didn't feel the cold as acutely as human skin, although he did experience mild discomfort as the water rushed through the gaps in his plating, chilling the wires beneath. Bumblebee aster than a human would, but then, he had no air in his lungs, no lungs, to buoy him up. His feet hit the bottom, and Bumblebee started towards Rumble, the water resistance slowing the progress of his stride.

"Wow," Sam said as the memory broke. "That was awesome! Could you show me another one?"

"Sam," Bee said gently, "I enjoy sharing memories with you, but that's not why we're here. I need you to show me Scalpel."

Sam's heart suddenly pounded in his throat. "I don't want to," he mumbled, hugging himself. The golden walls of Bee's mind wrapped around him, holding him close.

"I can't fix the memory without seeing it," Bee said.

Sam hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was to remember Scalpel. It was bad enough experiencing it in his dreams.

"You won't be alone," Bee said softly. "I'll be with you."

Sam swallowed, closed his eyes, and remembered.

Megatron sneering at him, holding him down, while Scalpel crawled up his body, scanning him, prodding him. The tiny Decepticon peered into Sam's mouth, and Sam whimpered, trying not to hyperventilate.

"I'm here," Bee reminded him.

Bee held him close as Scalpel dove into his mouth, and they both shuddered with pain as sharp metal scraped against the tender flesh of Sam's throat. Scalpel re-emerged from Sam's mouth, his investigation complete, and he made that proclamation that had been haunting Sam's dreams for months.

"Ve vill need to remove ze brain."

Sam tensed as Decepticon's forcep turned into a gleaming saw. He started to scream.

And Optimus Prime crashed through the wall, Bumblebee close behind him. The memory faded away in a wash of golden light, and suddenly, the light was surrounding Sam, holding him close.

"It's over," Bee was saying. "It's all right. Sam, you're safe."

Sobs racked his body, and Sam hugged himself, as Bee keened at him, the light still holding him.

"You did well, Sam," Bumblebee said. "I'm so proud of you." The golden walls pulsed around him, and again, Sam felt Bee's warmth and concern. It comforted him as nothing ever had, and he reached for more, desperate for it. Bee's mind opened like a flower beneath him, drawing him in, and Sam gasped as he felt -- he felt! -- Bee's love for him.

Every casual touch. Every glance. Every moment together they'd ever shared, every conversation recorded and preserved. Sam felt it all. And every bit of it so treasured. Bee's fear for Sam as he took the cube and ran into the heart of the battle. His relief and pride when Sam returned, Megatron defeated. Long drives together on the weekends, Sam singing along with the radio. Bee helping Sam with his homework, quizzing him on Spanish nouns and looking over his math problems. Sam had always felt bad for asking for Bee's help, figuring a super-advanced alien robot must be bored out of his mind helping a high school kid with his homework, but no, Bee liked doing it, looked forward to it, in fact. Bee's sadness when Sam left him behind for college. His yearning to stay with Sam, to protect him, to be with him as long as Sam would allow it. Bee, falling to his knees in Egypt, his mind crying out the words Mikaela spoke aloud as she leaned over Sam's lifeless body.

Bee was in love with him.

Sensing his shock, Bumblebee drew away. The link broke, and Sam found himself nestled between Bee's chest plates. Bee's spark still pulsed visibly in its chamber, and Sam glanced away, feeling like he'd already seen too much of the Autobot. Swallowing, he stood unsteadily and slid down Bumblebee's chest, into the grass below.

Bumblebee turned his head to look at him. His optics glowed blue. "Do I . . . disgust you?" he asked weakly.

"No," Sam breathed, too shaken to know quite what to think, but certain of that much, at least. "Bee, I . . " He pressed a hand against Bumblebee's cheek. "You surprised me," Sam said. "That's all. I never realized you felt that way. I didn't know a relationship would even be possible. I mean, could an Autobot and a human even . . . ?" He trailed off, embarrassed to voice his question.

Bee answered him anyway. "We could. There are ways. It's considered a perversion among my people to love an organic life form the way I do you." His voice was slow, sluggish. Too slow, Sam realized. The Autobot looked positively exhausted.

""Bumblebee," Sam said. "Are you okay?"

"The link drained me," Bee said, confirming his suspicions. "I need to recharge."

Impulsively, Sam wrapped his arms around the Autobot's neck, pressing his own, small cheek against Bee's larger one, and then he stepped back. "Can you transform? That way if anyone sees you . . ."

Bee nodded. His chest plates slid back into place, and he stood shakily. The transformation took longer than usual, and Sam held his breath until the familiar Camaro sat in the grass beside him. The door swung open tentatively. Sam had never thought a Camaro could look nervous, but Bee did, waiting there. Again, Sam felt a wave of tenderness inside him. He climbed into the car, and settled into the backseat.

"Sleep well, Bee," he whispered, patting the window in reassurance.

The constant hum of Bee's machinery slowly faded, the Camaro settled on its tires, and the world outside seemed to get a little quieter as Bee fell into recharge mode. Sam sat in the backseat, alone with his thoughts.

Bumblebee loved him. Sam leaned back against the window, drawing his knees up and resting his feet on Bumblebee’s upholstery. One hand trailed down to stroke the carpet, and he wondered if Bumblebee could feel it, even in recharge mode. He remembered Bee first asking to stay with him in Mission City. "Permission to speak, sir," Bee had said, startling everyone on the battlefield, especially Sam – of all the voices his guardian had shuffled through on the radio, not one had prepared Sam for the British accent. Even injured, his yellow armor dirty and scuffed, Bumblebee sounded like he belonged in a drawing room somewhere. Later, Sam realized that Optimus Prime brought out that note of stiff formality in Bumblebee; away from his commander, Bee sounded younger, almost Sam's age. But then, Mikaela sounded older around adults, too. A father in prison, centuries of fighting: those things made you grow up fast, Sam figured. As he drew the back of his fingers up the carpeted floor mat, Sam wondered if Bee had ever gotten the chance to be a kid. If Bumblebee were, as the other Autobots so often implied, nearly as young as Sam, at least in their years, then Bee must have been fighting in a civil war since he was old enough to fire his cannons.

"I envy your world its peace," Bee had confessed once, on a lazy Saturday afternoon drive. Sam, who'd been taking current world events at the time, had protested. Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Darfur -- if this was "peace" to Bumblebee, what must Cybertron have been like? Cybertron, all but destroyed in the last great skirmish between the Decepticons and the Autobots, who, leaving the shell of their home world and fanning into space in search of the All Spark, must have realized that they they were only bringing their war to other galaxies, other planets like Earth.

Suddenly cold, Sam sat up and rummaged in his backpack for his sweater -- only two clean pairs of boxers left, he realized, and one t-shirt. Maybe he could convince Bee to find a laundromat tomorrow; it might be nice to worry about something normal, like whether his jeans should get washed on hot or cold, as if he were any other guy learning how to do his own laundry now that he'd moved away from his mom. He could try to forget about his worry over the future, his parents, his robotic car who, by the way, was in love with him. Sam bit his lip, and rolled his head to the side, so he could look out the window to the wide, flat fields of the midwest, so different from Tranquility. _Bumblebee was in love with him._

When Sam had still been stuck on saying those three words to Mikaela, he'd looked up "love" in the dictionary and found: (1) an intense feeling of deep affection, (2) a deep romantic or sexual attachment to someone. Sam's affection for Bee ran deeper than the Pacific -- he loved the Autobot like a best friend or a big brother. Bee joked with Sam, he played bad music to shake him out of his funks, he protected him from Decepticons. They had definition number one down pat. Sam had never imagined taking Bumblebee out to dinner and a movie, though, or inviting him to spend the night -- what could an Autobot and a human even do together? But if Miles, or worse, if Leo expressed a romantic interest in Sam, he'd be freaking out. He wouldn't even consider it. He _wasn't_ considering it with Bee, exactly; however, Sam couldn't shake his mind free of the idea. In a way, Sam realized that he'd already been more intimate with Bee than he'd ever been with Mikaela -- he'd ridden inside of Bee's body; he'd told Bee about his nightmares; he'd shared Bee's memories.

"I love you," Sam whispered, his fingers curving around the leather seat beneath him. But was it enough? After everything they'd gone through together, the last thing Sam wanted to do was hurt Bumblebee. God, Sam's mom would be giving him a lecture right now for even thinking about it. Sam could practically hear her now, (she'd grown fonder of Bee since Egypt) saying, "Honey, don't lead that poor robot on." But Bumblebee had saved Sam's life, he'd been brother and best friend to him, and if Bee were in love with him, then Sam owed it to the Autobot to at least consider the idea. An alien robot and a human. The mechanics of kissing alone baffled Sam's already-overwhelmed brain. On tiptoe, Sam barely reached Bee's ankle, and of course, Bee didn't really have lips, so kissing was probably out. As for sex, Sam didn't pretend to be an expert on it -- like his mom had so embarrassingly announced to Sam's entire dorm, he'd only lost his virginity last summer. He'd only had sex with Mikaela six times before he left for college, and ten more times in the months that had passed between bringing Optimus Prime back to life in Egypt and Mikaela breaking up with him last week. Sixteen sexual encounters with someone besides his own fist (and Sam wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd been counting) hardly qualified him as the stud he used to dream of being back in high school as he flipped through _Busty Beauties_, but Sam had learned that he really liked sex. Could Sam have sex with Bee, did Bee even want to?

But -- "Love is about more than sex, Sam," his dad had said, in that really embarrassing talk with his parents after they found Mikaela in his bedroom -- and Sam knew that. When Sam pictured his future, he'd always imagined a relationship a little like his parents' -- they were best friends as well as husband and wife, and Sam always figured that's why they'd lasted for twenty-six years and counting, while so many of his friends' parents had gotten divorced.

Sam sat up and reached for the bottle of water he'd stashed in his backpack at the gas station; the cool, mineral taste of it washed over his tongue. Outside, crickets were singing. Sam capped the water, and lay down, pressing his cheek into the buttery softness of the seat. Beneath the mingled scents of leather and new car, Sam caught the deeper note of metal and beneath that, the faint, electric scent of Energon, which always reminded him of ozone. Whatever happened, Sam couldn't imagine his life without Bumblebee in it, at least in some capacity.

"I'll have to tell him that tomorrow," Sam thought, as his eyes drifted shut.

Sam fell asleep. And though his dreams that night were a confusing mix of his parents, Mikaela, and Bumblebee, not once did he dream of Scalpel.


	5. Hold Me

The next morning, Sam woke to the sound of Bumblebee's engine rumbling to life. Rubbing his eyes, Sam blinked up at the rose and apricot sky through the windshield. In his months of Not Sleeping, Sam had seen many sunrises, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up in time for one. The sky looked bigger in Nebraska than it did in Tranquility. Parked in a field of rippling grass, with the dawn rolling in above them, Sam could almost believe that the world was made up of golden light -- Bee must be practically glowing in it.

"Good morning," Sam said, yawning as he shifted on the black leather seat. Still lying in the backseat, Sam stretched, feeling the tense muscles in his shoulders crackle; discreetly, he checked to see if he'd drooled on Bee again -- he hadn't, thank God.

"Good morning," Bee responded hesitantly, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"S'alright." Sam sat up and stretched, bracing his hands against the roof as he arched his back. The car made a series of soft clicks around him, and Sam wondered if Bee were working out his own kinks. Did Autobots even need to stretch? It couldn't be comfortable, folding from a gigantic robot into a relatively small car. But then, Bee seemed to enjoy being a Camaro, so maybe it didn't bother him that much. "Are you feeling better?" Sam asked.

"_I feel good!_" James Brown sang through the radio, and Sam laughed as he climbed into the driver's seat.

"Good," he said, patting the dashboard. "You worried me last night."

"I overextended myself," Bee said. "That's all. I've neglected to enter recharge mode as often as I should have lately. Ratchet has chided me for that tendency in the past."

"I'll bet he has," Sam said, smiling. By now, the mechanic's temper had become legendary even among the humans on the Autobot base. If Sam's doctor were even half as intimidating as Ratchet, he'd probably never dare to get sick again.

"You seem to have slept well," Bumblebee said tentatively.

"No nightmares," Sam agreed. "I'm not sure how you did it, but I'm glad."

"I replaced your memory of the encounter with my own, second-hand experience," Bee explained as he got them back onto the road. "I'm relieved to see that it worked." He hesitated, and Sam held his breath. As much as Sam hated awkward conversations, even he had to acknowledge that they should probably talk about what else had happened in yesterday's mind link -- it wasn't every day you learned your best friend was in love with you, after all. But Bee only said, "There's a Starbucks in the next town."

"Cool," Sam said, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed that Bee hadn't brought up his feelings for Sam. He wondered if Bee was embarrassed. Sam knew he would be if their positions were reversed -- hell, Sam felt kind of embarrassed anyway. Bumblebee had lived in his garage back in Tranquility, they'd kept in touch after Sam moved to college, and they'd spent the last two days nonstop in each other's company. In all that time, Sam should have figured out how Bee felt about him -- looking back, he supposed it was kind of obvious.

Sam remembered Bumblebee opening his chest yesterday to reveal his pulsing blue spark, and he swallowed, glancing out the window as the farmhouses and fields rolled by them. Bee had made himself vulnerable to help Sam with his nightmares, and in return, Sam had learned something that the Autobot had obviously been trying to keep secret. It had been an accident, but Sam still felt bad.

The farms gradually gave way to a small town, and Sam sat up in the driver's seat, resting his hands on the steering wheel in case anybody looked at them. The wheel trembled slightly beneath his fingers, and Sam blushed, remembering how he'd stroked it yesterday. Sam knew that Bee's interior was just as sensitive to touch as human skin. Until yesterday, he'd never stopped to think about how Bumblebee must feel all of the little strokes and caresses Sam gave him. Looking back, Sam supposed he'd tried not to think about it.

"Does it bother you when I do this?" Sam asked softly, squeezing the steering wheel.

Bee shuddered around him. In a tight voice, Bee asked, "Does it bother you that I enjoy it?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted, pulling back so that only the tips of his fingers rested on the steering wheel. "It's just . . . I don't want things to be weird between us, Bee."

"I don't either," Bee said softly as he pulled into a grocery store parking lot. Looking up, Sam saw that the store had a Starbucks inside. The door swung open for him, and Sam managed a smile. Patting the steering wheel gently, he swung his legs out of the car and started across the parking lot.

Twenty minutes later, Sam returned to the Camaro wearing a fresh t-shirt, his face freshly scrubbed. He held a coffee cup in his hand and a half-eaten jelly doughnut in the other. He'd lingered in the store as long as he could, hesitant to face Bee and this . . . thing that had grown up between them. They were dancing around each other in the wake of yesterday's realization, trying to decide where they stood.

The radio crackled to life when Sam was a few feet away from the car, and Bee's voice warned him, "Don't you dare bring that inside."

Sam laughed, even as he glanced around the parking lot to make sure nobody had heard the Autobot. "What, this?" he asked, trying to sound innocent as he lifted up the doughnut.

Bee shuddered visibly in response, no doubt remembering the powdered sugar incident of '08.

Chuckling, Sam boosted himself onto Bee's hood and leaned back against the windshield to finished his doughnut. At least they could still joke around with each other, Sam thought. In love with him or not, Bee was still his best friend. As Sam ate, he flipped open his cell phone for what felt like the thousandth time. Still no message from his parents.

"_I waited by the phone so you'd never feel alone  
I waited by the phone just for you,_" Bee played.

"My parents haven't called me yet," Sam explained. "I thought they would have by now, at least to scream at me. They must be really pissed."

"They're not." Bee said with certainty.

Sam turned to face the windshield. "What do you mean? How do you know that?" A middle-aged woman pushing a cart through the parking lot turned to stare at Sam. He ignored her.

Bee started his engine, letting it idle. He didn't seem particularly inclined to answer, either with his own voice or the radio. "Bee," Sam said, an edge to his voice. In response, the door opened, inviting him inside. Sam crammed the last bite of donut in his mouth and wiped his hands on his jeans. Chewing furiously, he grabbed his coffee cup and slid into the driver's seat.

"What aren't you telling me, Bee?" Sam asked, as the door closed behind him.

"I deleted your voice message," Bee admitted.

"You did what?!"

"I deleted the message you left for your parents," Bumblebee repeated. "I also deleted the message from your resident director that followed it."

Sam stared at the dashboard, unsure whether to hug Bee or to kick the living daylight out of him and get killed in the process. "Why?" he said at last.

Bumblebee shifted uncomfortably beneath him. "It was logical for me to come for you, Sam. A drive across the country would mean a serious investment of time and money for your parents. I, on the other hand, could easily break away from the training maneuvers we were engaged in on the base. Knowing your parents, I doubted they would accept my argument, however. Therefore, it made no sense to worry them with your predicament until you could explain it to them yourself, in person."

Bumblebee's argument made a certain amount of sense. However, Sam sensed that the Autobot was hiding something.

"You've been practicing that explanation, haven't you? Why the hell were you monitoring their phone line to start with?"

Sounding miserable, Bee said, "Sam, I'm your guardian! You might have left me behind when you started school, but that doesn't mean I could turn my back on you. I couldn't listen to the distress in your voice and not come to you myself, Sam. I care too much about you."

The misery in Bee's voice deflated Sam's anger. He sighed, stroking the steering wheel. "It's okay, Bee," he said. "What you did . . . it makes sense, in a way. I just wish you'd told me."

"_I'm sorry,_ a woman sang through the radio. "_So sorry."_

"It's okay," Sam repeated. "I'm not mad at you. Well, maybe I was at first, but I'm not now." Bee's engine hummed happily, and the Camaro backed out of the parking lot.

* * *

For a long time, they drove in silence. Bee wasn't even playing the radio. At first, Sam felt relieved that they weren't having another awkward conversation, but as the miles stretched on, the quiet began to unnerve him. Even before he'd gotten his voice modulator fixed, Bumblebee had been a bit of a motor-mouth with the radio. His silence felt even more awkward than the conversation Sam had hoped to avoid.

"You're really quiet," Sam said when another twenty minutes passed without a sound from his companion.

In response, a song drifted out of the radio -- it took Sam a second to recognize it, and then he burst out laughing.

"_Yeah, it's sad, believe me Missy  
When you're born to be a sissy  
Without the vim and verve  
But I could show my prowess  
Be a lion, not a mouse  
If I only had the nerve_"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Bee, you're one of the bravest people I know," he said.

The radio fell silent, and Bumblebee's engine rumbled for a second, as if it were building up speed. Suddenly, Franz Ferdinand's voice burst through the radio.

"_I say don't you know  
You say you don't know  
I say . . . take me out._"

Sam gaped, wondering if Bee meant what he thought he did. Before he could ask, the station changed, and Blink 182 came on instead.

"_In the car, I just can't wait,  
To pick you up on our very first date._"

"Wait a second," Sam said. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" the radio cried.

"Isn't that a little sudden?"

Bee switched to his own voice. "You've known me for two years, four months, and 21 days longer than you knew Mikaela when the two of you started dating," the Autobot pointed out.

Sam swallowed. "Yeah," he said. "But most of that time, we were just friends. I mean, usually people hint a little bit before they ask someone out. Like, you should text me and I'll text you back, and then we'll work up to talking on the phone."

"We have texted each other, Sam," Bee reminded him. "We've also spoken over the phone."

"But that's different!" Sam said. "That's when you were just my friend. Now --"

"Sam," Bee interrupted him. "You can say no."

"I . . . I don't want to," Sam admitted. "It's just, I'm kind of nervous, Bee. What if we try this out and I don't like you the way you like me? What if I do like you, and you decide I'm a waste of time? What if my parents disown me? Well, they're probably going to disown me anyway, but what if they kill me? What if . . . what if Optimus Prime doesn't like it? What if we try this out, and break up, and end up hating each other? Then what? You're my best friend, Bee, I don't want to ruin that."

Bee let Sam ramble until he ran out of things to say. Then, gently, the Autobot said, "You will always be my friend, Sam. Whatever happens."

Sam drew in a deep, shaky breath. "When did you want to go out?" he asked, trying to sound calm.

Bee's processor whirred thoughtfully. "In approximately one hour and 28 minutes," he said.

"Approximately?" Sam asked.

"Depending on the speed of traffic," Bee responded.

"Oh." Sam leaned back against the driver's seat, wondering when, exactly, his life had taken this bizarre twist. Probably when his dad first drove him to that used car lot, he decided. "What did you have in mind?" he asked.

"_The best kind of prize is a sur-prize!"_ the radio said.

Sam laughed weakly. "You know, usually when I've got a date, I'll shower and shave, at the very least. You're going to get me just like this."

"I like you this way," Bee said.

* * *

As they drove, Sam pestered Bee for hints, but the Autobot refused to give him any. Eventually, Bee turned off the main highway.

"What are we doing?" Sam asked, but then he saw the sign on the side of the road.

Carhenge.

"Oh my God, Bee," Sam breathed as the Camaro's door swung open. "Where the hell do you come up with this stuff?"

Bee had pulled to a stop before a green, metal sculpture of a fish rising from the grass. Other metal sculptures studded the grass around them -- Sam caught sight of a dinosaur and something that looked like a flower.

"They're all made out of car parts," Bee said, sounding fascinated.

Sam shook his head and stepped out of the car. He couldn't take his eyes from the prize of the collection: a collection of old cars balanced on their trunks and stacked atop each other in a circle. All of the cars had been painted a dull gray, to imitate the stones making up the real Stonehenge. Sam stepped closer to the circle, unsure whether to feel horrified or fascinated. Behind him, he heard the unmistakable sound of an Autobot transforming. Sam turned to chide Bee -- it was broad daylight, after all, but then he changed his mind. Early March was hardly tourist season, and the field was empty save for the two of them. Even the small gift shop was closed. They were far enough from the freeway that Sam supposed it couldn't hurt for Bee to stretch his legs a bit.

Sam ventured into the center of the circle, Bee following behind him like a guardian angel.

Something about the exposed undersides of the cars disturbed Sam. He had too many friends who turned into cars not to feel a bit unnerved by the sight of so many dead ones. Glancing up at Bumblebee, Sam wondered if he felt it, too. Bee didn't look upset, though.

"Fascinating," the Autobot breathed, peering in to study the old Cadillac serving as the heel stone. "I'm amazed how humans can make art out of the most mundane objects."

"What's Autobot art like?" Sam asked, peering up at him.

Bee shrugged. "Boring, mostly," he said. "That's what I thought when I was there. Maybe I was too young to appreciate it."

In two large strides, Bee crossed to the fish sculpture. As Sam hurried to catch up with him, a blue beam of light shot out from Bumblebee's optics, fanning over the green metal.

"Are you looking for a new alt form?" Sam teased, resting his hand on Bee's leg.

"I'm growing bored with the Camaro," Bee said. "Of course, this wouldn't be practical for travel, but perhaps your parents would enjoy it in their yard."

For a second, Sam gaped up at him, speechless. Then he caught the repressed shudder of laughter fluttering Bee's doorwings, and Sam burst out laughing.

"You bastard!" he said, leaning against Bee's leg.

Bee chuckled with him, and crouched down, offering a hand to Sam. Still grinning, Sam stepped aboard, gripping Bumblebee's thumb for balance. The Autobot deposited Sam on his shoulder, and Sam shivered as the cool metal chilled him through his jeans.

"Are you cold?" Bee asked, turning to look at him.

Sam shrugged. "Just a little."

The metal abruptly began to warm beneath him, and Bee leaned closer, breathing a gust of warm air on Sam through his mouth vent. Sam shivered suddenly for a different reason. They were on a date, he realized. He and Bee. On a date. As first dates went, Sam supposed this one wasn't all that bad. Although weird, Carhenge was kind of strangely fascinating. At any rate, it sure beat that chick flick Mikaela had dragged him out to on their first date. Really, Sam was relieved that Bee had kept things friendly, instead of going weird and romantic on him. Of course, this being a date, things were sure to get romantic at some point.

"Bee," he said softly, and trailed off.

Blue optics glowed at him curiously, and Sam swallowed. He wasn't sure how to finish his sentence, or even why he'd started it. He had a choice, he realized. He could spend the entire time nervously waiting for Bee to come on to him, or he could force the moment of confrontation himself. "No sacrifice, no victory," Sam's dad always said. Of course, his dad probably never meant the old family motto to apply to dates with alien robots. Bee's scanners hummed softly -- no doubt, he was trying to figure out what was wrong.

Sam remembered how nervous Bee had been before asking him out. If the Autobot were willing to take the risk, the least Sam could do was meet him halfway, he decided. Trusting Bee to catch him if he fell, Sam stood, balancing precariously on Bee's shoulder. One step, too, and he was close enough to see the cables in Bee's neck. Bumblebee peered at him.

"Sam, what are you doing?"

"Shhh," Sam said. He leaned forward, a little unsteadily, and touched Bee's cheek. Undeniably alien as Bee was, something about his face looked almost human to Sam. It always amazed him how easily the Autobot could convey emotions. Right now, he was radiating the same uncertainty Sam felt. Tenderness and confusion rose up in Sam. He stroked the cheek like he'd stroked Bee's steering wheel yesterday, and the Autobot shivered beneath him. Reaching up with his other hand, Sam tugged Bee's face forward The Autobot obediently moved closer. Summoning all his courage, he leaned forward and kissed Bee on the vent where a human's mouth would be.

He'd been right - kissing didn't really work with an Autobot. The vent was hard and cool beneath Sam's mouth. Bumblebee had stilled beneath him, only his doorwings trembling, as if he were caught in a violent wind. Curiously, Sam darted out his tongue to lick the metal grating of Bee's mouth vent. It tasted like a bit like iron, but with a sharp electric, tingle. Bee made a low, mechanical rumble. Feeling silly, but also determined, Sam pressed another kiss onto the vent, then shifted position to kiss Bee's cheeks, his chin, the line of his nose. One of the Autobot's hands rose to curve around Sam's back, holding him in place.

"This really doesn't do much for you, does it?" Sam asked, as he shifted up on tiptoes to brush his lips against the red Autobot symbol in the middle of Bee's helmet.

"The sensations themselves are minor," Bee admitted. "But it means everything that you are touching me in this manner, Sam."

Sam wrapped his arms around Bee's neck, and Bee nuzzled him.

"Do you enjoy it?" Bee asked.

"About as much as you do, I think," Sam admitted.

Blushing, Sam stepped back to Bee's shoulder, gripping the Autobot's hand for balance. Unable to look at Bumblebee's face, Sam mumbled, "You said there are ways?"

Bee's optics brightened as Sam sat back down on his shoulder, dangling his legs over Bee's chest.

"Yes," Bee said. "A few ways, in fact. We --" he broke off suddenly, stilling beneath Sam. The human began to ask what was wrong, but then he, too, heard it: the rumble of an approaching car engine.

"Can you transform?" Sam asked.

"It's too late," Bee said grimly. "They're already in visual range, for humans." Sam realized how much he must have been distracting the Autobot -- normally, Bee would have sensed the car approaching from miles away. The car pulled to a stop outside the circle, and Bee froze beneath Sam, going completely still. His glowing blue optics switched off.

"Bee," Sam hissed, but the Autobot didn't answer.

The car doors opened, and a middle-aged couple stepped out. Sam's heart pounded in his chest.

"Wow," the man said, looking up at Bumblebee. "This wasn't here last year."

Sam gaped at him for a second, and then he realized. They were standing in a field full of giant sculptures made out of car parts, after all -- of course they must think Bee was one of them.

"He's realistic, isn't he?" Sam asked, patting Bee's shoulder.

"It's amazing," the woman said, snapping a picture of them. "I wonder who the artist is." She continued to circle, snapping pictures of Bee from every angle.

The man was watching Sam quizzically. "How on earth did you get up there, son?" he asked.

"I climbed," Sam said. "Yeah. I'm a champion climber."

"Can you get down?" the man asked.

Sam swallowed. Get down. Dubiously, he peered over Bee's shoulder, looking down at the ground below. He'd never realized quite how tall Bee was before. "Sure," he said uncertainly.

Swallowing, he crawled along Bee's shoulder, until he reached the thick metal plates of Bee's arm. Wrapping his arms around them, he slid down Bee's arm like a fire pole. Bee's hand tightened around him when he reached it -- Sam hoped the couple hadn't seen. Gripping one of Bee's fingers, Sam lowered himself down, until he dangled full-length from it. His feet just reached the Autobot's knees from this distance. Sam swung there, uncertainly, measuring the distance to the ground. Glancing up, he saw Bumblebee watching him. Bee nodded, in a movement so small that Sam would never have caught if if he hadn't been looking for it. Trusting Bee's judgment, Sam let go, and landed on his ass in the grass below.

"Oof," he gasped, and the man shook his head.

"You've got guts, kids, I'll give you that."

Finally, they drove away. Sam managed to keep a straight face until the car turned back onto the road. Then he glanced up at Bee, and they both started laughing.

"If those pictures hit the internet, you are never going to hear the end of it!" Sam hooted, leaning back against Bee's leg.

"Optimus Prime is going to kill me," Bumblebee chortled.

The Autobot dropped down to the ground, which shuddered beneath him. He sprawled on his side before Sam, and Sam sat next to him, resting against the Autobot's chest. Bee stroked his back gently, and Sam blushed, remembering how he'd kissed the Autobot earlier.

"Dates with you are never going to be boring, are they?" Sam asked. It wasn't until Bee's optics glowed blue and he chirped happily that Sam realized he'd said "dates," plural.

"Never!" Bee said, and Sam burst out laughing.

* * *

After Carhenge, Sam insisted that they stop somewhere to eat. Bee must have been feeling gallant, because he took him through the drive through of an Arby's.

"Wow," Sam said. "You're letting me eat in your cabin. This must be serious."

"_You deserve it, you surely deserve all the best there is,_" Bee played, as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Sam smiled and dug into his curly fries, being careful not to spill any on the leather upholstery. Gallantry could work both ways, he figured. As Sam ate, Bee drove them through the backcountry roads. Sam watched the sky over the fields, and smiled, absently stroking Bee's dashboard with the hand that wasn't oily from his fries.

"You know," Sam said after awhile, "I never in my life would have imagined going out on a date with a giant robot. But this has been fun."

"I've enjoyed it as well, Sam."

Sam glanced down at the floor. "My dad always told me that to make a relationship work, you have to find someone who can be your best friend," he said. "He liked Mikaela, but he never thought we'd last. We just didn't have enough in common, I guess."

"My people have a similar philosophy," Bee said carefully.

"You're my best friend, Bee," Sam said shyly. "And yeah, it bothers me a little that we can't kiss, or dance, or go out to dinner together the way a human couple could. But . . . you understand me. You're fun to be with. I can talk to you, and I know you'll actually listen. I'm not sure yet how the . . . the physical parts of this relationship would work, but I want to try this with you. I love you, Bee."

Bumblebee abruptly pulled onto a narrow dirt road.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked.

"We _can_ dance, Sam," Bumblebee said dryly.

Irrationally, Sam remembered Captain Lennox dancing with his two-year-old daughter at the welcome back party the soldiers had thrown for Optimus Prime. He'd held her in his arms, twirling her around while she squealed with laughter. Sam had a sudden vision of Bumblebee lifting him up like that, holding him safe in his enormous hand while the Autobot spun like a ballerina.

The idea made Sam feel, well, like Captain Lennox's little girl. He was opening his mouth to protest when another memory stopped him. In his senior year, Sam had gotten out of school early one day. There was some sort of a teacher's meeting that afternoon, and it had been in Sam's planner, but he'd forgotten to tell Bee about it. Hell, he'd forgotten all about it himself until Miles reminded him. He could have called Bumblebee to come get him (hanging out in the high school parking lot all day often wasn't Bee's idea of a good time), but it was sunny enough that Sam decided to walk home

He'd gotten there in time to hear an ungodly racket coming from the garage. Running to see if Bumblebee were in trouble, Sam had caught the Autobot attempting to _break dance_ of all things. Aside from the broken concrete floor, it had been pretty hilarious, not in the least for Bee's utter mortification afterwards. If Autobots could blush, Bee would have been redder than a stoplight. Dancing that way with Bee would be less like Captain Lennox's little girl, and more like the craziest, scariest carnival ride in existence.

Sam liked carnival rides.

When Bumblebee drifted to a stop beside a wide meadow, Sam hesitated only a second before stepping out of the car. He might as well see what Bumblebee was thinking before he shot it down, he told himself. After all, he owed the Autobot that. Sam put his hands in his back pockets and stretched his back, waiting for Bumblebee to transform. Instead, a hand fell on his arm.

Sam spun around to find himself facing a girl his own age. She reminded him a little of Mikaela, with pale blue eyes peering out from beneath waves of heavy dark hair. Her eyes were rounder than Mikaela's, though, and placed a bit further apart, giving her that slightly startled expression Bee's face always seemed to have. A yellow sundress clung to the curves of her body. A thin, gold chain dangling a tiny charm sparkled around her neck; with something like rising hysteria, Sam realized it was a bee.

"Oh my God," he stammered, tongue-tied. "Bumblebee, you've been holding out on me, buddy."

This was nothing like the skinny girl with the ponytail that Bumblebee usually came up with when he needed a holoform. _This_ looked like a cross between Mikaela and Sam's favorite centerfold from _Busty Beauties_. Sam hadn't even realized a woman could be this hot. Maybe a human woman couldn't.

She smiled shyly up at Sam. "Do you like it?" she asked, smoothing a hand down her dress. She had a voice made for phone sex, low and kind of breathy, and the part of Sam that hadn't been staring slack-jawed at the nipples tenting her thin cotton dress fell into a sudden, gibbering panic. What twilight zone had he entered? It was one thing for Bee to turn into a giant robot, but it was another thing for him to suddenly project this . . . goddess. What the hell was Bee thinking?

"Um, listen," he said. "I'm not sure this is such a good idea."

"You said you wanted to dance," the holoform reminded him.

Sam shook his head, trying not to hyperventilate, and he choked out, "But there's not any music!"

The radio clicked on from the Camaro behind him, playing the opening chords of an old love song, and Sam realized what a stupid thing that was to say. This was Bee. Of course there was music. The girl in the yellow dress held out her hand to him. After a moment of hesitation, Sam took it, feeling like he was losing his last shred of reality.

_Hold me, hold me,_ the stereo crooned.

The holoform began to sway in time to the music, tugging Sam along with her, and after an awkward moment trying to figure out what to do with his feet, Sam surrendered and allowed her to guide him. He wondered if Bee realized that the guy was supposed to lead. But then, of the two of them, Bee was definitely taller, so maybe he _should_ be leading. The holoform was a good dancer, better than Sam. Of course, Bee had good rhythm, even as a giant robot, and oh my God this was bizarre.

"Bee," he whispered, and the girl in the yellow dress replied in that strangely breathy voice.

"Yes, Sam?"

"This is really weird."

She stepped closer to him, wrapping her arms around him in a way that was probably supposed to be comforting. Her breasts squished against Sam's chest. It would have been hot if it weren't so weird. Awkwardly, Sam returned the embrace. Beneath the floral perfume, she smelled a bit like Bee's interior: new car layered over the deeper scents of iron and motor oil.

"Just relax," she breathed, moving Sam to the music. "Trust me."

_Make me tell you I'm in love with you,_ the radio sang. Sam trembled.

"Are you sure it's really you?" he asked, realizing how stupid the question was even as it came out. It wasn't like he'd never seen a holoform before. But usually they were pretending to drive or helping Sam load boxes into the trunk, not burying their faces into Sam's neck and squeezing him even closer. "It's me," she, (Bee, Sam reminded himself), promised, stroking Sam's back.

Trying not to hyperventilate, Sam lifted a hand to stroke her hair. In response, the she made a small, pleased, sound, oddly familiar, and oh my God, Bee might have copied it from Mikaela. Soft lips brushed his throat, and Sam squeaked. Pulling out of the holoform's arms, he stumbled backwards, hands lifted defensively in front of him, until his knees bumped against the Camaro's bumper.

"Bee, this isn't working!"

The radio clicked off, and the holoform looked up at him. "What's wrong?" she asked, advancing on him in a way that reminded Sam altogether too much of Alice. "All of the data I've collected about your preferences suggested that this form would be pleasing to you." She looked down at herself quizzically. "Would you prefer larger breasts? I tried to keep them somewhat proportional to this body type, but if you'd like--"

"No!" Sam yelped, scrambling back onto Bumblebee's hood.

"I just want to make you happy, Sam," that same, breathy voice said, from beneath _Bee's_ hood, and Sam let out a whimper.

"Could you please use your real voice?" he pleaded.

"Whatever you'd like," the girl in the yellow dress replied in the British tenor Bumblebee usually employed.

"Now that's just creepy," Sam said, gripping Bee's bumper hard enough to turn his knuckle's white. The holoform blinked up at him, all wide blue eyes and pouting lips, and Sam shuddered. "Bee, turn her off! I can't do this."

The girl in the yellow dress blinked away, and Sam felt the rapid pounding of his heart start to slow.

"Did I do something wrong?" Bumblebee asked worriedly. "I searched the internet for human mating rituals, but the advice was contradictory."

"No," Sam hurried to reassure him. "It was all . . . very romantic. It's just -- Bee, you're not a girl!"

"Autobots have no gender as humans see it, Sam," Bee reminded him. "Nor do we have biological sexes. I based my voice patterns off of a human male, so perhaps that's how you see me, but I could just as easily have chosen a female."

Sam nodded, feeling a bit like a student who'd been chastised in class. Bee had explained all this to him before. "Why _did_ you pick this voice?" Sam asked.

Bee's hood lifted a bit beneath Sam, as good as a shrug. "I liked it." After a heartbeat, Bee asked, "would you prefer a male holoform?"

"No!" Sam yelped, unsure if it was the lurch in his stomach or the faint hope in Bumblebee's voice that made him so opposed to the idea. "No, Bee, I think I've had enough of the holoforms for one night. Let's just cool it, okay? I thought I might be up for this, but I just . . . I can't. I was stupid to even try it. You're my friend. I don't want to mess that up."

"Nor do I," Bee said sadly.

Sam lay back against Bumblebee's hood, looking up at the stars behind him. Now that the panic and the weirdness of the situation was fading, he felt inexplicably sad. Bee was silent beneath him -- no music from the radio, no hum from the engine, not even that soft mechanical whir he sometimes made when he was thinking. Sam swallowed, remembering how he'd felt when Mikaela dumped him.

"I'm sorry, Bee," Sam said, stroke Bee's hood a little awkwardly. "I know you must be disappointed."

"I'm fine," Bumblebee said, his voice inflection-less.

"Bee --"

"Sam," Bumblebee interrupted him, "I would appreciate it if you would just . . . be quiet."

The hand that had been stroking Bee's hood froze. Sam returned it to his lap, and swallowed. "Okay," he said, stung. "Sure." Bee remained silent beneath him. Feeling like a heel, Sam sat up on the hood, trying to make himself as small as possible. He wanted to walk away and give Bumblebee some privacy, but part of him worried that the Autobot would view that as even further rejection. They sat in silence for a long time, Sam looking up at the stars, until Bee made a sound like a sigh. His door popped open.

"You require rest," Bee said quietly. "I booked you another motel room."

"I'll try not to get kicked out of this one," Sam said, trying to turn the words into a joke. Bee didn't answer.

Biting his lip, Sam slid into the driver's seat. The drive into town was the quietest they'd ever taken. Bumblebee pulled into a space in the motel parking lot, and opened Sam's door before the human had even finished unfastening his seat belt. It was clearly a dismissal. Sam frowned, deciding he was lucky Bee hadn't just pitched him out. Despite the open door, he lingered in the driver's seat, and ran a hand along the steering wheel.

"Bee," he said softly. "I do love you."

"I know, Sam." Bumblebee's voice was sadder than he'd ever heard it. Sam's heart ached.

Clumsily, Sam leaned forward and brushed his lips against the Autobot emblem in the center of the steering wheel.

"If I were going to date an alien robot, you know it would be you," he whispered.

Bumblebee shuddered, and Sam bit his lip, wondering where the kiss and the words had come from. What on earth had he been thinking?

"Sam," Bumblebee began, and hesitated a moment. His gears whirred quietly, as if he were trying to decide what to say. Sam's heart pounded in his ribcage. "Good night," Bumblebee finished finally.

Oddly disappointed, Sam reached for his backpack and slid out of the cab.

"Goodnight, Bee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyrics used in this chapter:** "Waiting by the Phone" by Baby Lemonade, "I'm Sorry" by Brenda Lee, "If I Only Had the Nerve" from The Wizard of Oz, "Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand, "First Date" by Blink 182, "You Deserve it" by Sizzla, and "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me" by Mel Carter.


	6. If It Terrifies You

That night, Sam stayed up until three, and Bumblebee didn't protest once. When Sam opened his laptop, he only caught a glimpse of Bumblebee's name in his buddy window before the Autobot logged off. Bee didn't log back in again, nor did he comment on Sam's Facebook status (sad and confused). When midnight came, he didn't hack into Sam's computer, disrupt the cable signal to Sam's room, mess with Sam's radio, or call him to demand that Sam go to bed. Sam toyed with the idea of texting Bumblebee, or maybe shooting him an e-mail, but he couldn't decide what to say. "I'm sorry," didn't seem to cut it, not when Sam had straight-out suggested a relationship with the Autobot, then panicked after a single dance with his holoform. And even if Sam could decide on a message, he wasn't sure Bee would respond to it. Sam couldn't blame Bee for ignoring him. He wished _he_ could ignore his own thoughts.

Now that she wasn't pressed up against him, everything about her screaming that she just. wasn't. Bee., Sam could admit that maybe he'd overreacted to the holoform. In the safety and solitude of his hotel room, he could even recognize that it had been kind of sweet for Bee to create her for him. Kind of. Bee had obviously been trying to please him: how could Bee have known just how creepy his effort would seem to Sam? In all fairness, Sam supposed he didn't know what would creep Bumblebee out. Of course, anything that could spook a centuries-old alien robot was probably beyond Sam's ability to pull off.

When one o'clock came without a protest from Bee, Sam moved to the window to reassure himself that the Autobot was still there. Hiding himself behind the heavy brocade curtains, though they'd probably do a fat lot of good if Bumblebee decided to scan his room, Sam studied the Camaro in the parking lot below. He wondered if Bumblebee had managed to fall into his recharge mode or if he, too, were mulling over everything that had happened. Sam choked back the lump of guilt in his throat that rose from Bee's earlier sadness and from the sight of him waiting in the parking lot, alone with his pain. Bumblebee deserved so much more than a spoiled, flighty human who took things for granted -- took _people_ for granted -- even when they were as amazing as Bee.

Hugging himself, Sam leaned against the window. The cool press of glass against his cheek reminded him of Bee's face nuzzling him earlier, and he blushed. He'd kissed Bee. Aside from the initial awkwardness, it hadn't even felt that weird. Touching a finger to his lips, Sam remembered Bee's mouth vent hard and cool beneath his lips, the taste of alien metal on his tongue. He remembered Bee's optics glowing, the Autobot's huge hand pressing him close. It hadn't felt sexual, exactly -- Autobots just weren't made for kissing -- but it hadn't been bad. He wouldn't mind doing it again, not if it would make Bee happy. Watching his Camaro in the parking lot below, Sam thought that he would do anything to make Bee happy, not out of guilt, or because Bee was his friend, but simply because Sam loved him. True, Sam didn't know if he were _in_ love with Bee. He wasn't even sure he could manage the same depth of love and devotion that Bee felt for him. He loved Bee, though. Dearly. He only hoped that Bee would forgive him once again.

* * *

Sam didn't remember leaving the windowsill and going to bed, but he knew it had been sometime after three o'clock. He remembered the glowing numbers on the alarm clock, and a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach because Bee hadn't protested his staying up so late. His dreams were troubled that night -- no hint of Scalpel, but an even worse nightmare in which Bee left him on the side of the road, driving away to never come back. Sam woke up with a pounding heart, and had to look out the window again to see if Bee were still there. The sight of the yellow Camaro in the parking lot calmed him. As he undressed for the shower, Sam decided that he and Bee needed to have one hell of a talk.

That didn't mean he looked forward to it, though. Sam lingered in the shower, and took his time getting dressed, trying to work out what, exactly, he could say to Bee. He ate cold cereal, fruit, and yogurt in the Continental breakfast, drank three cups of coffee, and watched an hour of news before he finally worked up the courage to face Bumblebee.

Checking out of the hotel, Sam stepped hesitantly into the parking lot and made his way to the yellow Camaro. Bee had gotten dusty on the drive, Sam realized as he approached him. When they got home, he'd have to wash the Autobot. His stomach fluttered at the thought, and Sam bit his lip, wondering if Bee would even stay with him once they reached Tranquility. After everything that had happened, Sam couldn't blame the Autobot if he booted Sam out in the driveway and sped back to the base as fast as his wheels could carry them.

"Hey, Bee," Sam said softly, hesitating a few feet away from the Camaro. Bee didn't answer, but the driver's side door unlocked itself. Sam reached for the door handle, fumbled with it a second before opening the door. He hadn't felt this nervous around the Autobot since Bee had first come home with him after the battle of Mission City. For the first few weeks, Sam hadn't known how to relate to Bumblebee. No advice column in the world had guidelines for dealing with a car who wasn't really a car, but a robot in disguise. Bee had smoothed things over for him then, joking with Sam, playing ridiculous songs on the radio, challenging him to games of poker online, and (finally) pointing out rather that since he had volunteered to be Sam's car, Sam really didn't need to feel awkward about driving him. By the end of that first month, Sam's nervousness around Bee had entirely disappeared, and they'd fallen into a casual friendship. By the end of the summer, Bee had become the best friend Sam had ever had. As he tossed his backpack into the backseat and slid into the car, Sam frowned at the thought that Bee definitely wasn't going to be smoothing things over for him this time. Now, the pressure was all on Sam.

The engine started as soon as Sam reached for his seatbelt, and Bee backed them out of the parking space and swung around to face the lot's exit.

"We need to talk," Sam said softly, resting a hand on the steering wheel.

"_Don't speak!_ the radio sang.  
_'Cause I know what you're saying.  
And I don't need your reasons.  
Don't tell me 'cause it hurts._"

"Bee," Sam said, his lips quirking up in a half smile. "Come on. You don't even know what I'm going to say."

"_Do I have to say the words?  
Do I have to spell it out?_"

"Bumblebee," Sam started, unsure what to say. Abandoning words altogether, he rested his fingertips on the dashboard instead, hoping his touch could convey some measure of comfort. Bee responded instantaneously, sliding the driver's seat back, out of reach. Sam gasped as his head bounced softly against the padded leather headrest.

"_You're a heartbreaker! Dream maker! Love taker don't you mess around with me!_"

"All right, fine!" Sam snapped, glaring at the dashboard. "We won't talk. I'll leave you alone. Happy?"

Bee didn't respond, but the radio switched to a classical music station, probably chosen to keep Sam from accusing him of being too quiet, like he had yesterday. Sam shook his head and sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, angry and hurt, but also kind of relieved. Bee's endless patience often amazed him. Strange as it was, Sam felt comforted to know that even Bee had his limits. He'd give the Autobot some time to cool down, and then he'd try again. If Bee had one fault, it was curiosity. Sam knew that sooner or later, Bee would want to know what he had to say.

* * *

Four hours later, Sam was starting to doubt the efficacy of his plan. The problem, he decided, was that you just couldn't out-wait someone who measured his life in centuries. He'd figured that Bee couldn't ignore Sam the entire drive home, but Bee seemed determined to do just that. The Autobot stopped at a rest station when Sam announced that he needed to use the bathroom, and later at a restaurant, when Sam got hungry. Aside from that, Bumblebee seemed determine to pretend that Sam wasn’t riding inside him.

Halfway through Wyoming, Sam decided to try again. "Bee?" he said hesitantly.

Bumblebee kept driving without so much as a rumble of his engine to show that he'd heard Sam.

"Bumblebee, come on."

The volume on the radio crept up, Vivaldi's "Gloria" blasting through the cabin. Sam wondered if that were the Autobot equivalent of sticking his fingers in his ears and singing, "I can't hear you."

Undaunted, Sam shouted over it, knowing that Bee's audio processors were more than capable of separating his voice out from the choir. "Bee, look, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you. You surprised me last night. That's all."

Still no answer, but the volume on the radio slid down a few notches. It was better than nothing, Sam supposed.  
"I understand if you hate me right now," Sam continued. "I don't blame you."

The engine made a grinding noise of protest, and Bee finally spoke, his voice sounding worn and exhausted. "I don't hate you, Sam."

"But you're mad at me."

Bee hesitated. "Perhaps," he said softly. "However, I believe I am mostly angry with myself. I was foolish to believe that a romantic relationship might be possible between us."

Sam swallowed. "I . . . I know I don't have the best track record with relationships," he said. "I messed up with Mikaela, and I only managed one date before I messed up with you. I still want to try this, though. If you'll have me."

A sputtering, metallic groan sounded beneath the hood, and the Camaro shook around him. "It's never been a question of my being willing to have you," Bee said, as if he were explaining something to a three-year-old. "You don't return my feelings for you, Sam."

"I love you!" Sam protested.

"As a friend," Bee said. Sam wondered if he'd imagined the faint note of bitterness in Bee's voice. "And as you've pointed out before, even that has infringed upon the normalcy of your life."

"That's not fair!" Sam glared at the dashboard. "Look, I was confused when I said that. I told you already, I just needed a chance to figure out who I was without you!"

"A chance you never got," Bee pointed out. "Your life is in a state of transition right now, Sam. My research indicates that humans do not do well with such liminal periods. Between losing your residence at the university and breaking up with Mikaela, it's not surprising that you would reach for a relationship with me merely to add some stability to your life. I believe humans have a term for it: I would be your rebound."

"That's not true!" Sam protested. "Well, okay, the transition part is true. I'm not sure where my life is going, and that freaks me the hell out. But believe me, Bee, dating you would _not_ make things any simpler for me!"

"All the more reason not to attempt it," Bee said, sounding entirely too smug.

"Are you just looking for a reason to shoot this down?" Sam asked.

Bee's processors whirred as he looked up the idiom. After a moment, he said, "I'm merely pointing out that, before yesterday, you've never given any indication of returning my feelings for you."

"That's because I didn't know you even _had_ feelings for me! Now I do. I want to try this, Bee."

"Why?" Bee asked.

A thousand answers flashed through Sam's mind, and silence stretched between them while he considered them. He didn't even realize he was speaking until he heard himself whisper, "I don't want to lose you." His voice hitched a little, and he blushed, pressing his forehead to the steering wheel. To his relief, Bee didn't push him away.

"Sam," Bee said gently, "our friendship doesn't depend upon your returning my affection for you."

Sam swallowed. He was trying to decide how to answer that when his cell phone rang, startling them both. Sam jerked upright, his hand scrambling for his pocket, while Bee rocked on his suspension as though he'd hit a pothole. Sam pulled the cell phone from his pocket, intending to silence it. But the name on the caller ID caught his attention, and he hesitated. Of all the people Sam hadn't expected to hear from again, Mikaela probably topped his list. He hesitated a moment as the phone rang and vibrated in his hand.

"I . . . I have to take this, Bee," he said. "It might be an emergency." As pissed as Mikaela had been at him, he couldn't imagine her calling him for anything less than a full-scale Decepticon attack. Although, if that were the case, she'd be better off calling Optimus Prime. Maybe her dad was back in prison, or Wheelie had managed to escape, or . . . The engine rumbled in acquiescence, interrupting Sam from his panicked train of thought, and Sam flipped open the phone.

"Hello?" he asked, wincing at the panicked note in his own voice.

"Hi, Sam." To his surprise, Mikaela's voice sounded just as nervous as his. Mikaela never sounded nervous. Even when facing down Decepticons, she kept a calmness about her that Sam envied.

"Is something wrong?" Sam asked, fearing the worst. Mikaela hesitated. As quiet as Bee had been that morning, Sam wouldn't have guessed that he could get any quieter, but the normal rumble of the Camaro's engine quieted to the faintest hum.

"I was talking to Leo last night," Mikaela said at last. "Sam, why didn't you tell me something was going on?"

"I guess I didn't want to worry you," he said.

"So instead you made me feel like I was nothing to you?" Mikaela snapped. "Sam, I flew across the country for you when you started seeing those alien symbols. Didn't you think I'd understand whatever’s happening to you now, too?"

"Sorry," Sam stammered. "I was a jerk. I know. It's just . . . Mikaela, things were really bad then. I was kind of messed up."

"That's what Leo said." Mikaela sighed, and Sam could practically picture the frustration on her face. "He said you left a few days ago with Bee. Where are you guys?"

"Wyoming."

"You should be home tomorrow then," Mikaela said thoughtfully."Yeah," Sam said. "I guess." A small kernel of disappointment settled in his stomach at the thought, but he didn't have time to examine it.

"Sam, when you get home, we need to talk," Mikaela said. "I feel bad. I wouldn't have dumped you if I'd known what was going on." She hesitated. "Maybe when you're home, we could get back together. Try again."

Once before, Sam had felt the world slow down around him, as though fate were zooming in on a single scene that would change his life forever. He'd thought it was a once-in-a-lifetime event, but here it was, happening again, the air around him growing heavy, as if the entire universe had stilled to see what he decided. A sense of deja vu blurred his vision, and for a second, he could almost see Bee's door swinging open, hear the radio speak, as the memory of that first key moment flared up inside him.

_Any more questions you want to ask?_

Gripping the phone, Sam swallowed, acutely aware of both Bumblebee and Mikaela waiting for his next words. His heart pounded in his chest, traitorously indecisive, as the memory of that first pivotal decision of his life played on.

"Sam?" Mikaela prompted.

At the same time, he heard the echo of his own voice from years ago. "_Don't you want to know that you had the guts to get into the car?_"

"Mikaela I can't," he said. "There's somebody else."

As suddenly as that, the world snapped back into focus. Bee swerved into the next lane, inches away from hitting the motor home in it. Sam gasped, gripping the steering wheel with his free hand as if that might somehow help. Through the squealing of brakes and the honking of the motor home's horn, Sam barely heard Mikaela's response.

"What?" she gasped. Bee centered himself in the lane, and Sam released the breath he'd been holding, gradually loosening his death grip on the steering wheel.

Mikaela's voice went cold and dangerous. "Were you cheating on me, Sam?"

"No! It's not like that, I swear! You know I wouldn't cheat on you, Mikaela."

"Then what?" she said. "It's been less than two weeks since I dumped you. Are you saying you already found someone new?"

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I didn't want to hurt you. I promise, this new person . . . it didn't happen until after you dumped me. I wouldn't have considered it otherwise. But . . . I think this could be special. Really special."

"Better than us?" Mikaela's voice sounded tight. Sam ached for her.

"I'm so sorry, 'Kaela."

"Screw you, Sam," she said, and hung up.

Sam stared at the phone for a second, and then closed it, dropping it on the passenger seat. He leaned back against the head rest, and drew in a shaky breath.

"Tell me I didn't just make the biggest mistake of my life."

The engine raced, sputtering a little as Bee searched for words. Finally, Bee said, "Sam, I never expected --" he hesitated, searching for words. The radio clicked on, but instead of a song, Sam heard his own voice drift through the speakers, so panicked it was barely recognizable.

"_Bee, you're not a girl!_

Sam shook his head. "Bee," he said softly, "I wasn't upset because you're not a girl. I was upset because she didn't remind me of _you_."

The engine made a series of wondering clicks. Abruptly, Bee turned on his blinker, swerving off the road and up the shoulder. Sam gripped the steering wheel as Bee muscled through the underbrush, handling the rough terrain as easily as any ATV Sam had ever seen. Bee pulled behind a grove of trees, and his door opened. Sam had no sooner stepped out than Bee began his transformation. Seconds later, a huge metal hand clasped around Sam's waist, and Bee was lifting him up and pressing him to his chest.

Sam spread his arms wide, wishing he could fully embrace the Autobot. He settled for running his palms down the racing stripes on Bee's chest, and resting his head at the center of Bee's chest, knowing that Bumblebee's spark was pulsing below him.

"Sam," Bee said softly. "Sam, I . . ." His optics sputtered on and off, and for once, he seemed completely speechless.

"I . . . I'm going to make mistakes," Sam warned softly. "I'll probably hurt your feelings again. And I'm going to be all confused and emo for awhile while I try to figure out what I'm doing with my life." He shrugged. "But I love you, Bee. I want to try this with you. And it's not just to keep you with me, or because you're my friend. It's because, like I said, I think we could be really special."

Bee chirped at him, then, as he so often did, resorted to song:

"_"And if it terrifies you  
Then it terrifies me  
'Cause I will be there  
So we've got each other in the dark_"

Sam leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Bee's chest, at the seam where the two armored plates met together. "You're going to have to teach me," he said. "About how we can . . . " he hesitated, feeling his cheeks go hot.

Bee chirped happily. Lifting Sam higher, he nuzzled Sam's neck. "I look forward to it," he promised.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyrics Used:**  
> No Doubt: "Don't Speak"  
> Bryan Adams: "Do I Have to Say the Words?"  
> Pat Benatar: "Heartbreaker"  
> DJ Tiesto: "In the Dark"

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Test Drive](https://archiveofourown.org/works/612721) by [Not_You](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You)




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